


Pride and Humility - Collected Solavellan Shorts

by SidheLives



Series: WolfHunt Side Works [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Arlathan (Dragon Age), Bravery, Dalish, Dancing, Depression, Desire, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Dreams, Eluvians (Dragon Age), Elven, Emerald Graves (Dragon Age), Enchantment, F/M, Fade Spirits, Fantasy Racism, Fen'Harel (Dragon Age) - Freeform, Forgiveness, Gifts, Haven (Dragon Age), Hide and Seek, Hot Springs, Lessons, Loneliness, Loss, Lover's Quarrel, Magic, Masks, More angst, Nightmares, Painting, Pining, Promises, Reservation, Ruins, Skyhold (Dragon Age), Solavellan Hell, Spirits, Tea, The Anchor (Dragon Age), The Crossroads (Dragon Age), The Dread Wolf (Dragon Age), The Elven Gods (Dragon Age), The Fade, Trading, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vallaslin (Dragon Age), Wicked Thoughts, ancient ruins, fade memories, wolfhunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheLives/pseuds/SidheLives
Summary: Originally titled Solavellan Hell - 30 Day Challenge 202030 Days of Solavellan Hell prompts from a Dragon Age FB group.Unless otherwise noted in chapter descriptions all entries exist within my WolfHunt world state.I have re-titled and rearranged the chapters of this work to be in chronological order within my canon.
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast & Varric Tethras, Cole & Lavellan, Cole & Solas (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus & Cassandra Pentaghast, Dorian Pavus & Varric Tethras, Iron Bull & Lavellan, Lavellan & Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, Lavellan & Dorian Pavus, Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age)
Series: WolfHunt Side Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835539
Comments: 23
Kudos: 12





	1. Dalish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Receiving the Vallaslin  
> (Pre Conclave)

It was dawn, the first light from the sun cresting the horizon and filtering through the thick foliage to the cleaning where the hunters of Clan Lavellan were gathered. Preparations for the ritual had begun hours before: ink had been carefully mixed by the Keeper, needles had been cleaned with fire and oil until they gleamed, and the elf at the center of the ceremonies had completed the purifications necessary to proceed.

Athim took a deep breath to steel her nerves. This would not be quick, nor would it be easy, but she could not falter. As Deshanna's presumptive First, the expectations placed upon her were high. Failing in this would not just mean remaining a child in the eyes of the clan, she would lose the respect of the hunters, perhaps even the respect of Deshanna herself. What future could she have in her clan if that were to happen?  _ None _ she told herself. She pushed her shoulders back and lifted her chin defiantly. She would not fail.

" _ Ena, da'len _ ." Deshanna's voice was solemn and sounded strange to Athim, who was used to the woman's warm, motherly tone. She stepped out of the aravel into the clearing. The weight of hundreds of eyes pressed upon her as she passed between the hunters to where Deshanna waited. The grass was soft against her bare feet and the early morning breeze chilled her skin. She clung to the sensations, fixing them in her mind, they were pleasant alternatives to the pain that was to come.

" _ Ehn gara verena vallaslin _ ?" Deshanna did not shout, but her voice easily carried to everyone in the clearing.

Athim swallowed hard and hoped her voice would carry as strongly. " _ Ar Athim, ashalan  _ Irotha'misu  _ i  _ Durlahn'ean,  _ gara verena vallaslin." _

Deshanna smiled imperceptibly, a sparkle in her eyes telling Athim she had done well. " _ Gara  _ Athim,  _ hama amahn. Ar'an ena." _

Laid out on the ground at the Keeper's feet was everything needed for the rite: the ink, the needles, and a padded board for her head. There were no cushions, mats, or blankets; comfort was antithetical to the process. While the wearing of the Vallaslin was important, the application was often moreso. Athim slowly sat, then laid back onto the board, hands tucked under the small of her back, palms down. Her hair had been pulled up high during her preparations so it would not interfere with her posture. The ground was flat and free of stones, for which she was grateful. While it was not the most comfortable place to lie it definitely left something to be desired. She took another deep breath and watched out the corner of her eye as Deshanna chose a needle and dipped it into the deep red ink. To Athim's eyes it suddenly looked very much like blood.

"You will do fine, da'len." The old woman's voice was once again a warm fur caressing her pupil's ears. Her whisper so soft that had she not been leaning directly over her face, the morning wind would have stolen it. "You are stronger than you think." Then the needle came and Athim bit her tongue and dug her fingers into the soft earth underneath her. It took everything in her not to scream, to cry out, to push and roll away from the pain. That, of course, was the point. She breathed heavily through her nose and focused on keeping still, recalling the feeling of the grass on her feet and the look of pride in Deshanna's eyes.

Slowly the pain shifted, becoming the backdrop to her awareness. It didn't lessen, in fact it never stopped feeling like liquid iron being poured over her face, but it was all encompassing, and so her mind adapted to treat it as her new standard. Deshanna's practiced hand rhythmically moved the needles in careful, delicate, and excruciating arcs. She occasionally paused momentarily to change needles, retrieve more ink, and to wipe blood from Athim's skin. Minutes turned to hours as the sun rose high in the sky, then began to fall again. Still the hunters waited and watched. Some sat as time went on, others stayed stoically on their feet, and all were focused on Athim. They watched with trepidation, with hope, and as the hours stretched on, with respect.

As the final rays of sunlight began to fade from the clearing, Deshanna put her tools down at last. She delicately wiped the blood and excess ink from Athim’s flushed face and smiled warmly down on her. “ _ Ra’ea gasha _ .”

At this signal Athim loudly gasped for air, the sound encompassing both the hours of pain and the ecstasy of success. The hunters broke their silence as well, shouts of joy and pride at her strength. Deshanna gave a hand to help the young woman sit up and get to her feet. Athim's breathing was ragged, her limbs shook, and her face was deathly pale, making the red marks of Falon’Din look like fire burning behind her skin, but the smile she wore was the brightest the Keeper had ever seen. 

“ _ Sulahn’nehn Lavellan! _ ” All grew once again silent as the Keeper spoke. “ _ Lam’vir as i’vea da’len _ .” she looked at Athim’s ragged, proud face. “ _ Min’vir as himem asha! _ ” The gathered hunters cheered and stomped their feet in celebration. Deshanna took her hand, squeezing it gently. “I told you not to worry, didn’t I,  _ ara lan’sila _ ?”

The young woman chuckled, the sound uneven with exhaustion. “I never doubted you, only myself.”

Deshanna tutted gently. “Never  _ lan’sila _ . You are more than you know and you will do great things. This is only the first step.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Ena, da'len - Come child  
> Ehn gara verena Vallaslin? - Who comes to receive the vallaslin?  
> Ar Athim, ashalan Irotha'misu i Durlahn'ean, gara verena vallaslin. - I, Athim, daughter of Irotha'misu and Durlahn'ean come to receive the vallaslin.  
> Irotha'misu - Athim's mother  
> Durlahn'ean - Athim's father  
> Gara Athim, hama amahn. Ar'an ena. - Come Athim, Lie here. We will begin.  
> Ra’ea gasha. - It is finished.  
> Sulahn'nehn Lavellan! Lam'vir as i'vea da'len. Min'vir as himem asha! - Rejoice Lavellan. Yesterday she was a child. Today Athim is a woman!  
> Ara lan'sila - My student, Deshanna's affectionate nickname for Athim


	2. Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athim tinkering with enchanted weapons  
> (Pre Conclave)

When dealing with human traders Athim and Deshanna were always present, but always slightly back and out of sight. While they had never encountered trouble with Templars in the past it was worth being cautious. Deshanna was there to observe and offer assistance should the traders require it, Athim had a more active role in trading, but only for specific items.

"A sword? Why would we have use of a Shem made sword Lethallen?" The trader was one familiar to the clan and the hunter who spoke wore a genial smile as she passed her eyes over the blade.

"This isn't just a sword friend. It's been enchanted by a dwarven master of the craft in Kirkwall." He gave his best smile, saying the word "enchanted" in such a way that he clearly thought the elves would be mystified.

"Oh really?" The hunter raised an eyebrow before turning and calling into the tree line. "Athim?"

Deshanna gave the other mage an approving nod and she pushed past the brush to emerge from the wood.

The trader looked at her like she'd materialized out of the ether. She ignored the look, confidently approaching and gently taking the blade from his hands. "What kind of enchantment is it?"

"Oh, um, fire? I think." The man clearly hadn't expected to be questioned about the item.

Head down to examine the blade she cast her eyes towards him, giving him a withering glance through her lashes. "I take it you did not purchase the blade from the enchanter then,"

He shook his head, looking sheepish. "Nah miss. Got it off a trader in Low Town."

"So you don't even know if it's really enchanted," the hunter angrily crossed her arms and glowered at him. He turned crimson.

"Peace, _asa'ma'lin_ ." She gave the woman a slightly strained smile, finding herself equally irritated with the trader’s misrepresentation. “ _Ar'an eolasemah_.” Turning her attention to the weapon itself, she closed her eyes and reached out with her magic. Using a delicate touch she caressed the metal and leather, feeling for a familiar echo of power. She was so convinced that it wouldn’t be there that it surprised her when she found it. Athim rolled her mind over the magic, carefully feeling out the underlying enchantments, the components that came together to create the whole. She opened her eyes and looked at the sword again, a satisfied smile cresting her lips.

“ _Ahn sileal ema, Amelanes sael?_ ” The hunter looked smug as she spoke. She, like Athim, believed the sword to be mundane, and the trader a charlatan. Not that he wasn’t.

“It is enchanted.” she responded in the common tongue. The trader looked as shocked as the hunter. “Though not with fire. This sword is enchanted with a rune of slow.” Glancing back to the trees she saw Deshanna peering out from the foliage to give her a nod. “ _Ar'an gera dar'misaan. Ar'an tel'sal dirtha'i geral'lan._ ”

“As you say, Athim,” the hunter gave her a nod, taking the offered blade from the other woman’s hands.

With a last glance at the humiliated trader Athim receded back through the trees to Deshanna’s side. The Keeper greeted her with a bright smile and a warm embrace. “ _Son shivanal, da’len_.”

“ _Ma Serannas_ , Deshanna,” she returned the older woman’s smile, swelling with pride.

The woman chuckled, a sound well worn with use. “Go on back to your studies now. You have done enough.”

“I will,” her smile brightened. While Athim was pleased to be useful and enjoyed the careful examination of such magical trinkets, being alone in study pleased her more than anything, and Deshanna knew it well. 

“ _Vara sahl’in_ ,” she laughed again at the young woman’s excitement. “Before I change my mind.”

Athim was gone, dashing back toward the waiting aravels, in the blink of an eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> asa'ma'lin - sister  
> Ar'an eolasemah - We will soon know (lit. We [are] about to know)  
> Ahn sileal ema, Amelanes sael? - What is the truth, First? (lit. what understanding have, Keeper's first?)  
> Ar'an gera dar'misaan. Ar'an tel'sal dirtha'i geral'lan. - We will buy the sword. We will not again deal with this trader. (lit. We buy sword. We not again speak with [the] buying person.)  
> Son shivanal, da'len - Well done, child  
> Vara sahl'in - Go now


	3. Wolf Mandible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athim asks about the strange ornament Solas wears.  
> (Post The Threat Remains; Pre In Hushed Whispers)

" _ Aneth ara _ , Solas."

He looked up from the book he held at her greeting, eyes guarded, keeping his finger propped onto the line of text he had left off on. " _ Aneth ara _ , Athim. What can I do for you?"

She kicked at the snow on the ground absently. "I just wanted to talk. I find that I have questions for you."

" _ Ara eolas emem, ar sul'ama, da'len _ ," he removed his hand from the between the book's pages and closed it, setting it utop a barrel beside him.

" _ Ma serannas _ ," she leaned against the low stone wall and pursed her lips in thought. Solas folded his hands and patiently examined her as she formed the words of her question. “I overheard you speaking with Cassandra in the Hinderlands,” she unconsciously tugged on her fingers nervously. While Solas had always been willing to answer her inquiries to the best of his ability this felt more personal than asking about magic or the fade. “You said that you do not revere the elven gods.”

“Is that so surprising? You yourself have expressed your own lack of faith in the Dalish pantheon and you were raised your entire life to believe.”

"That's not my question," she smiled softly. It was always pleasantly surprising to Athim when he remembered things she told him. He was so much more interesting than her, she oftentimes wondered why he bothered to give her so much of his time. "I was curious about the pendant you wear."

He looked down at his own chest momentarily and when he looked back to her, his eyes were slightly wider than usual. “What would you know about it?”

"It's a wolf bone isn't it?"

"Very observant of you, it is."

She waited for him to go on, to offer an explanation of some kind, but he continued to wear his slightly mystified expression and maintain steady eye contact with her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the expectancy in his gaze making her timid. “I’ve known Dalish who wear such charms to ward off the attention of Fen’Harel.”

Solas cocked his head to one side, an amused smirk turning his lips. “How interesting, I was not aware of such a custom.”

“I don’t believe it to be common. I have only encountered it at Arlathvhens.” Three Alathvhens had occurred in Athim’s lifetime, the first when she was a young child. Two she had attended as Deshanna’s first and so had the liberty of wandering among the clans.

“I wonder what the origin of such a superstition is…” he tucked one hand under his chin in contemplation.

“My question is, why do you wear it? It’s clearly not because of any fear of the Dread Wolf if you don’t believe in the gods.”

He studied her in silence for a long moment. “Do you fear the Dread Wolf Athim?”

She blinked rapidly, knocked off guard by the seemingly unrelated question. “No more than I fear Elgar'nan, or Ghilan'nain, or any other stories told around a fire at night.” She crossed her arms. “You’re changing the subject.”

He chuckled. “I am. Let us say it is a reminder of my time before the Inquisition and leave it at that, shall we?” His voice was amiable but there was a harness in his eyes that made Athim think her initial trepidation regarding the subject had been well placed.

Her attention moved to the snow at her own feet and she began pulling on her fingers again. “Of course.  _ Ir abelas _ Solas, it was not my place to pry.”

“ _ Tel’ea abelas _ . You have done nothing wrong by asking.” His eyes were softer when she looked up, and she smiled appreciatively. “I would like to ask you something as well, if you would humor me.”

“Ask me anything you want.”

“I’d like to hear more about the Arlathvhen.”

“Oh,” she flushed slightly. “I can’t imagine I could tell you anything about it that you don't already know.” Even as the clan’s first, she was left out of many important discussions. Once she became Keeper that she would know the kind of details Solas sought.  _ So never, _ she thought, not for the first time. The sudden trajectory change her life had taken was still new enough that she tended to forget.

“You misunderstand Athim.” the smile he gave was tinged with embarrassment and she straightened her posture, coming away from the wall, in surprise. Solas was never embarrassed. He spread his hands in front of him. “I don’t know anything about them.”

Delight sprouted in her chest and grew to bloom across her face in a bright smile. Finally something she could teach him about. The idea that there was anything she knew more about that Solas tickled her and she nodded enthusiastically. “I would be happy to tell you anything you want to know.”

“Wonderful,” he looked up at the grey and quickly darkening sky and held a hand out which caught snowflakes. As they had spoken the near constant flurries had grown fat and wet. “Would you like to come inside?” he gestured to the door of his room. “I do not relish the idea of a long conversation in a snowstorm.”

“Inside?” he nodded brusquely. “ _ Ma myatha ar _ .”

“Not at all,” there was laughter in his voice. “After you,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Aneth ara: A friendly greeting  
> Ara eolas emem, ar sul'ama, da'len: I will share what I know, child (lit. My knowledge held, I impart, young one)  
> Ma serannas: Thank you  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry  
> Tel’ea abelas: Do not be sorry  
> Ma myatha ar: You honor me


	4. Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing a Rift  
> (Post The Threat Remains; Pre In Hushed Whispers)

She felt the Rift before she could see it.

The others couldn't feel them the way she could, a gentle tug at her magic through the mark on her hand. When she got close enough the Anchor would crackle to life, mirroring the nature of the Rift itself. 

Right on cue, as they crested the hill, the staticy feeling began in her palm and the accompanying shower of green fluorescent sparks burst to life. 

Then they were upon it. 

Athim found the Rifts startlingly beautiful, no matter how many she saw. They moved like water and felt like the most fondly remembered parts of her childhood. She knew logically that they were a threat, not just to her but the whole world, but they were becoming old friends to her. Each new meeting made them more familiar and less frightening.

Power arked from the center of the tear, scorching the ground all around with the same green sparks which spilled from her hand. “Here they come!” She shouted, spinning her staff one handed into a ready position, careful to keep the Anchor away from her weapon, clothing, and companions. She braced herself, falling into the practiced motion of the familiar dance. When the sharp stabbing pain in her hand and temples came, she was ready.

At first, on the push to the temple and the Breach, the adrenaline pumping through her every nerve had made her ignorant to the pain. After that it had seemingly endeavored to make sure it was never ignored again. Every Rift, always when the spirits pressing hard against it broke through, confused and aggressive, their searing claws ripped into her. She had to focus all her will to not go white blind at the sensation, pushing through to cast, to strike them down. Each demon banished back to the Fade lessened the agony.

Pride demons were the worst.

As the last demon fell her mind cleared and the Rift quieted, but experience told her it would only be for a moment. She rushed forward and thrust her left hand towards the dancing, shimmering piece of the Fade. The power in the Anchor leapt to the Rift with no effort on her part, like it wanted to return to where it originated. Closing it however required effort. Athim pushed against it with her will, her desire to heal the veil, her need to protect the people who would suffer if it remained open. 

The tears always resisted, pushing back against her, seeming to have a will of their own which desired existence. It didn’t make sense. Their existence was unnatural and, like the power in the Anchor, they should wish to return to a natural state.

Not that the hypothetical desires of a tear in the veil changed Athim’s duty.

She pushed harder, and felt the resistance begin to fall away, the edges of the tear sliding back into resonance with itself. She gave a final thrust and the Rift gave a final tantalizing shimmer before vanishing into nothing. She sighed, shoulders drooping slightly, a wide, satisfied smile spread across her face. She turned back to her companions, sliding her staff into the holster on her back. “Onto the next one then?”


	5. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the snowy path to Skyhold: What's in a name?  
> (Post In Your Heart Shall Burn; Pre Fade Kiss)

She looked over at Solas' as they trudged through the snow towards the imposing fortress. "Where did the name come from?"

He raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, breathing heavily as they ascended. "It doesn't seem like the kind of name humans would give a place."

"You assume it's a human construction, then?"

Solas had a habit of answering questions with more questions that Athim found equal parts fascinating and irritating. "I'm Dalish. I assume any building that isn't a ruin is of human construction."

He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "I suppose that is fair." 

She waited for him to go on. The minutes ticked by as they continued to climb and it became clear he wasn't going to. She looked at him, irritated by both his lack of response and the lack of effort he appeared to be using to climb through the snow. Her lungs burned and her calves ached, and worst of all her socks were wet. "So where does the name come from?"

He chuckled, "Even uphill in the snow you remain persistent da'len." She glowered at him but he ignored the expression. "It is a bastardization of the original elven name."

"Elven?" The annoyance dropped from her voice and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Not the fort itself, you were correct that it was built by human hands. But the place it occupies. It was of importance to the ancient elves."

Athim looked up at their destination again, seeing it with this new lense. "What did the elves call it?"

" _ Tarasyl'an Te'las _ ." His voice was reverent. The words seemed to hold power, the way he said them.

Her face constricted in thought, lines becoming prominent on her forehead. "Sky place, No… hope?" She shook her head. That couldn't be right.

Solas laughed at her again. "You must remember the lyrical quality of elven the way it was used then. Las can also mean ambition, and what is it to limit ambition?"

Again her face turned contemplative. He insisted her elven was coming along well, she had an ear for it he said, but she tended to be too literal. For a moment she considered her clan, former clan, and had a sudden surge of smugness. Her spoken elven was now more complete than even Deshanna's, thanks to Solas. However, she pushed the feeling aside as soon as it arose. Deshanna had taught her as well as she could have.

"Held back?" She looked at him for confirmation and found his mouth turned in the smile he always wore when she did well in her lessons. "Where the sky is held back?"

"Very good, Athim. Your elven improves every day that passes."

She glowed at the praise, then looked up at the fortress again “Skyhold. It makes sense. But how did they know? The human builders I mean.”

He shrugged languidly. “Some places, particularly powerful places, can hold echoes even without a thinning of the Veil. It is less likely that they knew the old name and more likely that it spoke to them.” He smirked. “In a manner of speaking.”

Gaze locked on the high walls and towers Athim spoke without thinking, the words slipping out softly, more for herself than him. “I hope it speaks to me.”

He was silent, a kind of silent that was familiar to her and meant he was thinking. She looked at him again and ended up meeting his eyes, as he had been looking at her. The smile he wore was also familiar, he tended to wear it when she surprised him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head dismissively and pushed ahead of her, up the snowy face of the mountain. His next words were almost stolen by the winds, but they floated to Athim like the flurries that even now fell from the sky. “I very much hope the same.”


	6. Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Elvhen Lesson  
> (Post The Threat Remains; Pre In Hushed Whispers)

“ _ Ar’… panelan _ ?” Athim squinted and clenched her teeth in uncertainty, casting her eyes up to Solas where he stood before the hearth. He raised one eyebrow at her, his expression clearly asking if she was sure. She put her fingertips on her temples and squeezed her eyes shut in focus.

“You are overthinking again,  _ da’len _ .” There was laughter in his voice. “Take a step back.”

She sighed, chuckling. “You know how difficult that is for me.”

“I have gathered.” He turned to her. “Try again.”

“ _ Ar _ …” looking at him, rather than the inside of her eyelids the word came easily and she rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. “ _ Pana _ .”

“Very good.” there was an almost imperceptible upturn of his mouth and she grinned. He gestured for her to continue with one hand. “Past tense now if you please.”

“ _ Ar’panem _ , and before you ask: future tense is  _ Ar’panemah _ .”

He smirked. “See how easy it is when you allow it to come to you rather than grasping for it?”

“ _ Ar’nuvena dirthala y’sulrahn _ .” She pushed herself to her feet and stretched, the cross legged position making her toes go numb after hours of conjugating verbs.

“These are the building blocks  _ da’len _ . If you wish to improve you must have a solid foundation.”

She groaned, rolling her neck. “Solas, please. Could we do more building blocks tomorrow?” Her eyes were pleading. He met them, looking unimpressed. Athrim redoubled her efforts, folding her hands together and grinning like a child begging for sweets.

He sighed, relenting. “Very well.” A smile lit his eyes at her excitement. “ _ Ar’suleva nuisa nar’sal’shiral. Banal’halam silaima ma. _ ”

Her eyes widened and he gestured for her to begin. She pulled on her fingertips nervously, and went through the words in her head, her thoughts spilling out of her mouth. “I intend…” her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Burn your life?” She looked up at him slightly alarmed and found a wry smile on his face, he looked very pleased with himself. He had intended to throw her off. She pursed her lips and went back to the phrase. “It’s a threat. You’re teaching me how to threaten people in elven. Is that really the most judicious use of your knowledge?” She raised a cheeky eyebrow.

“We can go back to simple verbs if you prefer.” He looked smug.

“No, no,” Athim waved her hands quickly, “This is good.  _ Ar’suleva nuisa nar’sal’shiral. Banal’halam silaima ma. _ ” She repeated. “I will burn you. You will be forgotten. Except, that doesn’t fully capture it.”

“Meaning?” he clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head to the side.

“You said  _ banal’halam  _ was the concept of things or people living on in the way they touch the world around them. To be forgotten by  _ banal’halam _ is not just being forgotten, it’s all existence moving on as if you never existed.”

He nodded, shoulders rising in a slight shrug. “It is an old phrase. I thought you would appreciate the sentiment. You do so like setting people on fire.”

“Only certain people,” she replied quickly. “I do like it. It will be difficult to work into conversations, but I’ll manage.”

“I’m certain High Chancellor Roderick will pick up on the tone, even not knowing the words.” Solas grinned, teeth gleaming white even in the building’s dim interior.

She barked out a laugh. “Break for today? I’d like to go through some combat exercises before dinner.”

He dropped his arms. “I’ll join you.” Athim couldn’t keep the surprise from her face and he raised one patronizing eyebrow at her. “I expect I will be called upon to accompany the Herald into battle soon enough, it would be remiss of me not to prepare.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you outside the gates once I change?” She smiled cheerily.

“Of course.  _ Ar’sha lana lean nar’inan.” _ With a last grin Athim hastily made her way into the snow, leaving Solas smiling, slightly wistfully, after her, before he consciously wiped the expression from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Ar… panelan: I... warrior (Athim is using the wrong word here)  
> Da'len: Child  
> Ar Pana: I fight  
> Ar’panem: I fought  
> Ar’panemah: I will fight  
> Ar’nuvena dirthala y’sulrahn: I want to learn something else  
> Ar’suleva nuisa nar’sal’shiral. Banal’halam silaima ma: A threat. I will destroy you by fire. You will be forgotten by the world (vaguely)  
> Ar’sha lana lean nar’inan: It is my pleasure to please you. (lit. I am happy to bring light to your eyes)


	7. Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole has a question for Solas  
> (Post In Your Heart Shall Burn; Pre Fade Kiss)

“Your pain has a different name than you, Solas.”

Looking away from his book, he found Cole sitting on the table at the rotunda’s center, legs swinging gently and eyes obscured by the brim of his hat. Solas deliberately closed the book and set it beside him on the small couch where he sat, then rested his elbows on his knees and tented his fingers before him. “It is an old name. One that has no place here.”

“But he’s still you.” the spirit rolled his head back to look at Solas’ face.

The elf nodded. “But I am no longer him.”

“It’s strange.”

“Is it?” he stood up and approached Cole. “People are often more than one thing at once. I would suspect very few here are simply what they appear to be.”

"That's true…" his voice was contemplative.

"While he and I share many motives, I have drifted far from the man I was.”

“Calmer. More quiet. The anger is still there, but burning low like embers left over from a bonfire.”

Solas took a thoughtful breath, attention drifting to the tall, empty walls. “Yes.”

“And new embers too.”

“I would rather not discuss that.” He met Cole’s eyes and the spirit tipped his head to one side, eyes defocusing.

“She comes with eyes and questions bright to learn of those she couldn't know, no anger or bitterness at the knowledge. She does not care for coin or fame, does what she does because it's right. She lifts up those who have lost their own voices.”

He closed his eyes, brow furrowing slightly. "Cole."

"She doesn’t know, doesn’t see the way you look at her."

“That is for the best.”

Cole was silent for a moment, watching Solas open his eyes, seeing more than the shadow of regret which passed through them.

"Will you tell her?"

"No." His voice was sharp. "And you cannot Cole. No one can know about the man I once was. It would cause much harm if it were discovered."

"I won't."

"Thank you."


	8. Rotunda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Solas paint  
> (Post Fade Kiss; Pre All New, Faded for Her)

"Why don't you just go down there?" Dorian had watched Athim dreamily staring over the library's railing for nearly an hour. While he had not personally witnessed any wistful sighs, he could not completely rule out their existence. "Or do you intend to pine away at this balcony until the world ends?"

"Shhhhhh," she hissed at him, eyebrows low and pointing a finger at his chest threateningly. "Keep your voice down."

He chuckled and came to stand beside her at the railing. Below them in the rotunda Solas was painting. Pots of brightly colored hues surrounded his feet on a piece of canvas which went all the way up to the wall. His attention was wholly focused on his work, brush moving expertly, tracing lines drawn at an earlier time. Dorian had to admit that it was captivating to watch, but looking sidelong at Athim it was clear the art was not her primary motivation for watching. She leaned her cheek on her hand and had one foot tucked behind the other, her heel gently bobbing back and forth. Everything about her body language indicated textbook infatuation.

"You've got it worse than I thought." He leaned over and spoke quietly directly into her pointed ear. She nodded absently, eyes never leaving the elf below as he worked.

"I think I might hate him." She said quietly, the amorous glaze on her eyes contradicting her words before she said them.

Dorian put a fist to his mouth, coughing to obscure his laughter. "That proves you’re in love with him I think."

She sighed.

"Oh goodness, there it is." Athim finally tore her eyes from the room below to look at him inquisitively. “The wistful sigh, dear. I’m afraid that means you’re too far gone to be helped, the fever has gone to your brain.”

She crossed her arms and her face pinched in annoyance. “Do you actually have something to say or are you just going to prod at me?”

"Me?" He pointed at himself with both hands, his face a picture of innocence. "I'm just making observations."

“Well,” she deflated slightly, voice becoming unsteady. “Could you have something to say?” she absently pulled on her fingertips and looked back down at Solas.

Dorian gave an apologetic smile. “Not my area of expertise I’m afraid.”

“I feel like a fool.” Athim dropped her face into one of her hands, shaking her head slightly.

In that brief moment that she looked away Solas glanced back over his shoulder to where she stood. Standing next to her, Dorian could see the same ardent energy in his glance that she carried, and he felt a surreptitious smile curl his lips. By the time she took her hand away from her face the other elf had gone back to his painting.

"I'm sure it will all work out, Athy." He put one arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. "Despite the fact that you are egregiously too good for him."


	9. Elf Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hurled insult and a quick defense.  
> (Post Fade Kiss; Pre All New, Faded for Her)

“We don’t want your kind around here, knife ear!”

The words sliced through the air like a great blade, cleaving through the quiet of the small market place. The man who shouted them was drunk, despite it being midday, and appeared undeterred by the many sets of eyes which immediately turned in his direction.

Solas was unsurprised by both the words and the lack of local attention which they drew. Such slurs and underlying attitudes were as commonplace in Fereldan as they were in the rest of Thedas, particularly in small settlements such as the one they had decided to pass through on their way to the Storm Coast. 

The words had been directed at Athim, who’s bright auburn hair and place at their lead made her a focal point of passerby attention. He watched as she realized the words were for her: the charismatic smile draining from her face, a slight flush of humiliation running over the crests of her cheeks, her shoulders drooping imperceptibly in disappointment. 

A pang of sympathy shot through him seeing the light leave her eyes. A small piece of him cried out to say something, to step forward and defend her. It was not his place however. Despite what had passed between them she was not his, and she was the Inquisitor; being defended by an apostate would only make her look weak.

“Excuse me!” Dorian’s sing-song tone made it hard to miss. “Could you please repeat that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it.”

Athim caught his arm as he pushed ahead of her and hissed “Dori, no. You don’t need to—” but the Tevinter gently shook her off his arm, flashed her a brazen smile, and put his attention back on the drunkard.

The man seemed confused by the question, looking at Dorian the way a cow examines a butcher's blade. “Wot?”

“You yelled just now,” he pointed back at Athim who sheepishly wrung her hands as she watched him. “At my friend here. I’m terribly sorry but I didn’t catch a word you said.” He gave a low chuckle. “You’ll have to speak up if you want to be heard, good man.”

“I said we don’t want no knife ears round here,” unalarmed by Dorian’s tone or physique and seemingly unaware of the staff strapped to his back, the drunk stomped forward on legs gone soft with alcohol. “They ain’t welcome.”

“Is that so?” Dorian tipped his head to the side, pursing his lips into a thin line. Solas could see the anger boiling under the surface of the mage's movements and found himself surprised by the ferocity of his emotion. Dorian put his hands on his hips. “Does anyone else feel the same?” he wasn’t exactly yelling, but it was clear everyone in the market could hear him. He turned his eyes in a circle causing townspeople to hurriedly look away. “No? Then I guess we’ll feel free to stay.”

“Okay Dorian, you made your point.” Athim grabbed his arm and attempted to pull him back. “Lets just go.”

“Go?” He looked down and met her glower with a winning smile. “But this man was just about to offer you an apology for his uncalled for comments.”

“No I ain’t.” The man crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his chin out, the gesture undercut somewhat by his legs wobbling below him.

A shadow passed over Dorian’s eyes and Athim pulled at him harder. “Dori, it’s fine.” He ignored her, a wicked grin spreading across his lips as he examined the man. Her eyes dropped wide and she tried again. “Shit. Dorian, don’t.”

“You,” Dorian untangled his arm from her grip, “owe my friend an apology.” he took a single step forward and Solas could feel him pulling from the Fade, magic welling in his left hand which was clenched in a tight fist.

“I don’t owe no harlot knife ear noth—”

The casting was subtle enough that Solas was impressed. The man’s voice dropped off as his eyes went too wide and he began to gasp and whimper softly. Athim rubbed her eyes with both hands, then tented her fingers before her mouth, equal parts annoyed and flustered by Dorian’s heroics. As quick as he had cast, Dorian dispelled the magic.

“Now.” He leaned into the horrified man, meeting his eyes. “Did you have something to say to my friend?”

Wide, bloodshot eyes, flicked to Athim who dropped her hands to clasp them before her. “Begging your pardon Miss,” he did not sound inebriated anymore. His voice was tight and rasped. “I shouldn’t have called you no names.”

“Ask to be forgiven.” Dorian was a picture of Tevinter egotism, shoulders back and arms crossed, looking down his nose at the man as he would a misbehaving hound.

“Please forgive me.” The man pulled the cap from his head and bowed it, rolling and knotting the hide in his hands.

Athim looked at Dorian who smiled again. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the offender. “You’re forgiven.” The look she was given in response was so full of raw gratitude that she pulled back slightly. It was very similar to the way true believers looked at her, something Solas knew made her deeply uncomfortable.

“Thank you a thousand times Miss!”

“Now run along like a good lad,” Dorian waved his hand in the man’s face. “Go on.” Then he caught Athim’s elbow and turned her around, returning them both to the group at large.

“Horror, Dori? Wasn’t that a little much?” Solas was close enough to hear her whisper harshly at the other mage, who snickered flippantly in response.

He may have been laughing but Solas had seen the righteous anger which had burned in him at the man’s words. He examined Dorian from a perspective which included this new information. He watched the way he gently held Athim’s elbow and covertly examined her expression, the care he gave to her concern over his actions, the worry which tightened his eyes. He had been willing to fight, possibly kill, over the honor of an  _ elf _ , this Tevinter Altus.

Dorian looked over his shoulder, perhaps sensing the apostate’s attention on his back. Their eyes met and Solas gave a firm, approving nod. One corner of Dorian’s mouth turned up even as surprise lit his eyes. He gave a nod of mutual respect in return.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing dear. Tell me again what a commendable rogue I am for salvaging your honor from beneath the weight of the meager peasant’s harsh words.”

“I hate you sometimes.”

Solas was grateful that Dorain’s hearty laughter masked his own chuckle.


	10. Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Dorian have a conversation that is definitely not about Athim.  
> (Post Balcony Scene; Pre Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts)

“Solas, I had something I wished to discuss with you.”

Grey and amber eyes jumped to the Tevinter mage at this statement, surprise evident in both. Cole did not seem surprised.

“What is it, Dorian?” Solas sounded guarded. Athim chose to stay silent, giving her friend a suspicious glance.

Dorian, fully aware of the elves’ wariness, chuckled lightly. “Nothing to be worried about, old boy. Just had a hypothetical I’d like your take on.”

“Very well,” he narrowed his eyes slightly.

Athim turned her attention back to the path ahead as Dorian continued. "The Anchor," he threw a significant glance at the Inquisitor's back. "You're quite familiar with it?"

"I would say so." The apostate had noted the look and responded cautiously.

"Do you intend to become moreso?" The mage's tone was casual, neither overly serious nor frivolous.

"What are you on about Dorian? Is this the best time for a chat about my hand?" Athim was teasing and she didn't even spare the time to cast him a cheeky glance, too focused on looking for signs of Fairbanks's camp.

"You worry about the leading. Us boys will just keep ourselves occupied until you require us to murder something for you." She responded with a sardonic laugh. Dorian, assured that her focus was ahead and not behind her, looked back to Solas, moving slightly closer to the other man as they walked.

The elf raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I don't think that's any of your business."

"As someone with a vested interest in the Anchor and it's… stability, I am making it my business." They stared at each other for a moment, Dorian looking smug and Solas annoyed. They were both stubborn, but the Tevinter was also insistant, and the elf knew it.

He sighed. "I believe I do. Does that concern you?" His voice was irreverent.

"Not on principle, but you must understand how, as I care very deeply for At- the Anchor, I wonder about your intentions."

"You need not do so. I can assure you my  _ intentions _ for the Anchor are perfectly palatable."

"But don't I?" Dorian raised one eyebrow inquiringly. "No one knows much about you, you must admit. If roles were reversed I very much doubt you would take my assurances as sacrosanct."

"I'm curious then what you hope me to say. If my word is not good enough what would you have?"

"You're not talking about the Anchor." Cole abruptly appeared between the two mages causing both to start and take a step back.

"Yes. We are." Dorian raised his eyebrows at the spirit, voice forceful.

"Definitely." Solas sounded more at ease but looked ahead to where Athim still purposely walked on in search of their destination.

Cole looked between the two men, innocent eyes searching for an explanation for their blatant lies. "You both love her, different but the same. You want her to be happy, worry that she pushes herself too hard. You want to carry the burden for her, but you know that you can't." Around him the two shared a look that was not exactly respect, but an acknowledgement of the truth in Cole's words. The spirit's face screwed up into a thoughtful expression. "Dorian doesn't want to see her with no clothes on though."

Solas' lips thinned and he blinked slowly and Dorian burst into raucous laughter.

This caught Athim's attention and she turned back to look at them. The three had fallen quite far behind her as they talked and she raised her arms in exasperation. "Well, it's a good thing I don't need you to murder anything for me. I'd be dead before you stragglers noticed!"

"Coming dear!" Dorian called back, stifling his laughter. "Won't be but a moment." He felt more than saw her roll her eyes before she continued on. He looked over at Solas' flustered face as they hurried to catch up to her. "Palatable, eh?"

"Shut up." 


	11. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian spills the tea.  
> (Post All New, Faded for Her; Pre Balcony Scene)

Dorian heard the stomp of boots up the Tavern steps and sighed heavily, setting his book aside and pouring himself another glass of wine. The Seeker had the most distinctive footsteps he had ever heard. Perhaps if she ever took off that ridiculous armor you wouldn't be able to hear her coming a mile off. He watched over the rim of his glass as Cassandra's head crested the landing, eyes searching, then landing on him. He raised his drink to her in greeting and she made a disgusted noise. On the stairs behind her Dorian heard Varric's laughter and raised his eyebrows slightly.  _ What an interesting pair _ he thought musingly as they both approached him.

"What a nice surprise to see you both. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Varric took the chair across from him, face colored with amusement at a joke Dorian wasn't privy to. Cassandra remained standing and crossed her arms, looking annoyed at being there. "What is going on with Athim?'

"Straight to the point, eh Seeker?" Varric looked over his shoulder at her and chuckled, then looked back at Dorian. "What she means Sparkler, is the Inquisitor has been acting strange, well stranger than usual, lately. Figured you'd be the man who'd know why."

"Me? Why would I know any more than you?" Dorian's voice was glib.

"Don't even begin with me Dorian," Cassandra pointed at the mage accusatorially. "Everyone knows she spends more time with you than anyone."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." He took a drink of his wine to indicate the conversation was over. He  _ did _ of course know what they were talking about. Athim had been mooning about Skyhold for weeks, pining away for the hobo painter. Outside of battle she was unfocused and prone to daydreaming, sometimes forgetting what she was saying half way through her sentences. He had given her grief about it, and received a few well placed punches for it, but she couldn't seem to shake her lovesick malaise.

As he set his glass down again he found Varric and Cassandra still staring at him.

"Bullshit." The dwarf no longer looked amused. It was troubling to see Cassandra's expression on Varric's face, and Dorian started slightly.

"She is our friend and we are concerned for her." The woman said through tight lips.

The mage looked between the two serious faces and gave an overexaggerated sigh. "It's nothing you need to be concerned about." Rather than looking relieved and  _ thankful _ , which was the reaction Dorian had been expecting, they both instead looked more accusatory than ever.

"I knew it," Cassandra put her hands on her hips and glowered at him hard enough that the mage felt himself whither under the look.

"It's really nothing. I feel you are both being terribly overdramatic about this, and trust me, I would know."

"We'd like to come to that conclusion on our own thank you very much." Varric crossed his arms and looked positively grumpy.

"Had you considered perhaps there is a reason Athim hasn't told you what's going on herself?" Dorian was feeling left out and crossed his arms to mirror the dwarf. "Just accept that it's personal and move on!"

"Why would she not tell us?" Cassandra leaned over the table, getting much too close for his comfort.

" _ Vishante kaffas!  _ It's no one's business but Athim's if she wants to go kissing apostates!" He realized his error as their faces fell into twin gasps. "I've said too much."

Varric burst into hysterical laughter. "She kissed him?!"

"Keep your voice down!" Dorian hissed. "If she didn't tell the two of you do you really think she wants the whole of Skyhold knowing?"

Varric clapped a hand over his mouth. Cassandra, still looking shell shocked, took a seat beside them. "I am a fool," she said. The mage opened his mouth to respond, which quickly wiped the surprise from her face and replaced it with contempt. Dorian thought better of his comment and closed his mouth again. "I should have realized myself." She gave a disgusted grunt.

"So they finally got together? About time, they've been making goo goo eyes at each other for months." Varric leaned back in his chair looking satisfied.

"No, they did not." It was Dorian's turn to look grumpy. "I said they kissed, and that is all they did. Apparently the bald one  _ needs time _ . Whatever that means. Who needs time to decide when a gorgeous woman like Athim practically throws herself at you?" The irritation in his voice made Cassandra raise an eyebrow.

"You seem quite invested in their lack of a relationship." She smirked gently and Dorian rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please. It's all she'll talk about anymore. I would like very much to knock him upside the head, if for nothing else than to have a new topic of conversation."

Varric gave a low chuckle. "These things have a way of working themselves out, Sparkler."

"Right. Which is why the two of you stormed up here, interrupted my drinking time, and badgered me into revealing the Inquisitor's deepest secret."

The dwarf shrugged lackadaisically. "The Maker works in mysterious ways my friend."

Cassandra groaned.


	12. Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened while Solas was away.  
> (Post All New, Faded for Her; Pre Balcony Scene)

"She waits in the courtyard, hair clean and damp. Her hair dries as she paces. Varric asks if she wants dinner. No, she says. She cannot eat, stomach knotted with worry. As the sky burns orange and purple she at last sits on the steps to wait more. The sun has gone, and so have you. She does not cry, though she wants to. If I had been faster, she thinks. If I had been stronger." 

Solas looked up from his work table to find Cole sitting on the scaffolding, feet dangling in the open air. The words stung and the elf guiltily clenched his jaw. "It was not her fault. She should not blame herself."

"She does and she doesn't. She's trying not to." He looked up, tilting his head to one side and leaning back on his palms. "When you went away, she thought it was because of her."

The elf's neutral mask slipped for a moment and he looked aghast, mouth falling open. He recovered quickly but concern stained his eyes. "Why?"

Cole was suddenly beside and slightly behind him. "Didn't mean to push, didn't mean to touch, didn't mean for it to happen. He doesn't look at me the same, lessons stilted and stiff, no jokes or secret smiles anymore." Solas turned to find Cole's distant eyes clearing of fog. "You pulled away."

"I did." He cast his eyes down, arms abruptly limp at his sides. "It is better this way."

"For who?" 

Cole's gaze was intense and Solas drew up defensively, shoulders pulling back and chin raising. "For both of us."

"But why?" The hopelessness in Cole's voice loosened the elf's body language. The spirit folded his hands in front of him, looking very much like a penitent mortal child. "She makes the hurt from the before sting less. You take away her loneliness and insecurity. You're both happier with each other than you've ever been apart."

Solas gently rested his hand on Cole's shoulder. "Things are not that simple." His tone was resigned, a desperate, bitter edge straining his voice.

Cole met his eyes, the guileless hope in them an inverse reflection of the despondency in Solas's. "It could be." 

Then he was gone and Solas was left holding empty air in his outstretched hand. He slowly curled his fingers into a loose fist and let his arm fall to his side. Cole's words rolled around in his mind and, despite his severe intention not to let them, took root. Like ivy, the possibility sprouted and flourished, growing over his doubts and apprehensions. He paced the rotunda, attempting to hew the invasive growth with tools fashioned from the truth of who and what he was and the realities of what he knew he must do in the future. But like an ill prepared gardener, none of these could uproot the choking foliage. Even as he struggled, the vines flowered, and each blossom was her: her eyes sparkling with joy when she learned something new, his chest tightening when she smiled at him, the velvet softness of her lips against his. These and dozens of other images ran over his better judgement and he found himself blatantly daydreaming about her, justifications forgotten entirely.

From his perch on the balcony railing, Cole smiled.


	13. Mount

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas got something for Athim.  
> (Post Balcony Scene; Pre Wicked Eye and Wicked Hearts; Companion to short story Momentary Distractions)

"Inquisitor Lavellan."

Athim looked up from her desk where she had been reviewing scout reports from Emprise du Lion. An Inquisition soldier stood at the top of her stairs who saluted when she looked up.

"What is it?" She looked back at the report as she gestured for him to approach. The trouble was worse than they had thought: Rifts, a frozen river, and missing villagers. They would need to leave soon. The soldier cleared his throat and she looked up at him, lips slightly parted in incredulity. He saluted again and Athim rested her chin on one hand, giving the man her full attention. "What is it?" She repeated, sharply enunciating each word.

"I was sent to fetch you to the stables."

"To _fetch_ me?" A touch of outrage entered her tone at the word. The soldier whinged, stepping back from the desk as if she had physically struck him. "And who bade you _fetch_ me?"

"Messere Solas, ma'am."

Athim's lips pulled thin and her back stiffened. She ripped her head to one side and gave him a warm, fake smile. "Thank you. Consider me fetched." He saluted again and then scurried out of her chambers like a fox was on his heels. She watched him go, then stood and rolled her neck, face pinched with irritation. "Arrogant _telenalin'emaelan_." She dropped the report into a drawer and roughly slammed it shut using her hip.

Most people apologized. Not Solas, no he had her _fetched_. This wasn't just not apologizing, it was not acknowledging that he'd done anything at all. She sighed heavily, attempting to loosen her clenched jaw. She would be the bigger man and go see what he wanted.

Athim did her best not to stomp through the castle as she headed down through Skyhold and practically tip-toed past Varric. She imagined him seeing her fuming path and jumping at the opportunity to observe the chaos. Not what she wanted. She had avoided Solas for days, attempting to let her frustration burn down. Rather than dissipating, she’d found her anger smoldering. It wasn’t even what he’d said, that she could forgive, it was his inability to see why it upset her and his pigheaded refusal to apologize. _I don’t want to fight,_ she reminded herself. She stepped out into the crisp mountain air of the courtyard and took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her. The truth was she did want to fight, she just didn’t want to admit it. People moved out of her way quickly as she approached. Athim wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of who she was or because of the aura of anger she knew she was not hiding well enough.

Approaching the stables Solas was nowhere to be seen, but Master Dennet was waiting for her, waiving genially as she approached. He was clearly expecting her, which made her suspicious, but she returned his wave.

"About time you showed!" The normally subdued horse master was clearly excited about something, smiling widely, and gestured for her to come closer.

“Hello Dennet. I didn’t know you were expecting me.”

The man crossed his arms and chuckled. “Well good. That means everyone kept their mouths shut. Supposed to be a surprise after all.”

“Surprise?” Athim blinked dumbly.

“Aye. Come on back,” He tossed his head towards the stable proper before turning and heading in the same direction. She followed, still mystified. “There she is,” he gestured to a previously empty empty stall. “She’s a beauty. Honored to be the one to tend her.”

Athim’s jaw dropped open and she quickly covered her gaping mouth with one hand as she heard Dennet chuckle again. It was the most beautiful hart she had ever seen. Her coat was a deep chestnut which shone in the sunlight, appearing almost gold where the light hit. Dark, intelligent eyes observed Athim as she approached. She lifted her hand to the beast, allowing the hart to scent her. “She’s beautiful.” her awed voice became a delighted chuckle as the animal shoved her muzzle into her hand.

“That she is. This breed is called Pride of Arlathan. Solas was very specific that it had to be this breed.”

“Solas?” She tore her eyes from the hart to look at the horse master.

He nodded. “Came down a few days ago. Said he needed one for you, said it had to be a doe, said you were not to know until she arrived.”

She looked back at the animal, a smile tugging her lips. “Does she have a name?”

“He said you could change it, but yes. Said to call her Seranna.”

“ _Seranna.”_ Athim said the word with him, her smile now a jubilant grin. “Thanks Dennet.” She gave the hart a last caress, then turned and tore out of the stables heading for the rotunda.

He had apologized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translation:
> 
> Telenalin'emaelan - Bastard (Lit. One who has no father)


	14. Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A favor for the Inquisitor  
> (Post Balcony Scene; Pre Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts)

"Oy! Solas!"

Sera's piercing call broke the reverie of Solas's peaceful walk in the late morning sun. He grimaced, the elf girl grated on his nerves, then calmed his expression and turned to her voice. She trudged towards him through that morning's snowfall carrying what appeared to be an armful of cloth. "Yes Sera, what can I do for you?"

She held out the things she carried, coming so close he had to force himself not to step back instinctively. "Here. Inquisitor's things." She shoved the bundle towards him and he took it roughly, lest they fall to the ground.

He looked from the items he now held, recognizing them now as clothing and supple leather armor, to the elf's smirking face, mystified. "And what am I to do with these?"

Sera sniggered and planted her fists on her hips. "Inky said she wanted you to bring them to her. She's down at the hot spring." She wagged her eyebrows in a way that implied a lewd comment was soon to follow. "Careful not to drop any of it, there's some  _ small _ items in there." Solas stared at her impassively, then her meaning became apparent and he glanced at the clothes in his hands again, eyes slightly wider. Sera cackled at his reaction, despite how slight it had been, and clapped him on the shoulder, throwing a thumb over her own towards the spring. "Wouldn't want to keep  _ that _ waiting, eh?" Then she sauntered past her towards the camp, a playful spring in her step.

He watched her go before his eyes flashed again to what he held, then to the path she indicated which led to the nearby hot springs. Shifting the clothing carefully to one arm he lifted the shirt and leather jerkin, definitely Athim's, which lay on the top of the pile and peeked underneath, then promptly let them fall again with a jerk. He peeked over his shoulder in the direction Sera had gone. She hadn't been joking. Every scrap of the clothing Athim had been wearing that morning, including her small clothes, were now in his hands. Solas felt himself pale slightly before straightening his back and forcefully recapturing his composure. He started towards the spring with purpose. If Athim wished him to bring her things, then he would. No need to further examine the situation.

_ And yet… _

Sera had come from the spring, with all of Athim's clothes, directly to him with orders to return them. The series of events was illogical, he would be returning items she had only minutes before sent Sera away with. It didn't make sense, especially from someone as prudent as Athim who had never been one to lord her authority over others.  _ Unless, _ his darker thoughts whispered,  _ the intention was not to ask a favor, but to issue an invitation _ . His feet roughly scuffed the snow and he almost tripped, an unseen root catching his step, mind so suddenly clouded that he had neglected to watch where he was going. Athim; beautiful, enigmatic, trusting Athim was completely nude in hot bubbling water, and was requesting his presence. Not simply requesting, but requesting in a manner which explicitly indicated that she was unclothed. An imagined image of the woman flashed before his eyes: her auburn hair dark and heavy with water, eyes half lidded and lips slightly parted. Droplets rolling down her sun kissed skin to drip musically into the pool around her as she slowly raised herself out of the water, arm extended toward him, breasts—

_ No _ . Solas shut his eyes tight against the image, his entire body going stiff as he struggled to control his suddenly racing heart. He was jumping to conclusions based on his own heedless lust. Athim was not the type of woman to so recklessly flaunt her desires. 

_ Was she? _

It was after all her who had kissed  _ him _ in the Fade, lips full of longing and unsaid words. She made no secret of her affection for him in the company of others, and alone her touches were fervent and cloying. He always restrained himself with her, shackled by his secret truths, and she had never pushed upon that restraint. Before that moment he had always attributed it to a virginal nervousness on her part, but perhaps that was not the true reason. Perhaps she held herself at bay because of his own tentative nature.  _ Perhaps _ , whispered that carnal part of his mind,  _ she has grown weary of timidness. _ Her image was in his mind again: lithe hands grasping his face and kissing him fiercely. His clothes growing damp as she pressed her naked, still dripping body hard against his. Solas coughed, pushing through the image and forcing his feet to move again towards the spring. The thought was ludicrous, he told himself sternly. But as he walked he could not chase the lascivious thoughts from his mind.

_ Would it be so bad? _ Part of him whispered.  _ There are ways to have her without taking her. _ The walk became harder once the thought came upon him. With difficulty he swallowed, carefully putting one foot in front of the other. He couldn't lie to himself that the prospect was not appetizing. There were not enough justifications in Thedas and the Fade to make him believe such an act would be purely for her benefit. More than that, would it be any different from bedding her properly as far as his guilt was concerned? An animalistic growl from the base of his skull assured him it would be. The fact of the matter was that he could think of no alternative reasoning for Athim's strange request, and he was clearly of two minds about how to react to that. 

The fact that the invitation had been made however, _that_ he was undividedly smug about and a prideful smile slid across his lips. He had found the one spot of brightness in the muted world he had woken to, and she was young and supple, and she wanted him. The dueling portions of his mind stilled as he came to the understanding with himself that he wouldn't decide until he saw her. Until he heard her sweet mewling as he suckled her tongue and ran his hands over her soft skin. He would wait until she begged, then decide. The thought of Athim begging for anything almost brought him to his knees. His battlemage goddess who decisively brought the rebel mages to heel and faced down an ancient Tevinter magister with no regard to her own safety, who showed distain for the nobles of Thedas and reveled with the common man, who blasphemed the Evanuris of old and sought her own truth, unafraid of the fabled Dread Wolf. _A good match_ _for the god of rebellion_. He found it difficult to disagree with the thought.

As he cleared the last bower of frost-covered trees to the secluded spring, the vain smile vanished from his face in a flash, replaced with the shock of a man who has been duped and realized it too late. Athim's back was to him as she sat in the warm water. She must have been sitting on a natural outcropping as her entire back was exposed. Her arms were raised, mid stretch, and Solas caught a tantalizing glimpse of the edges of her breasts. He could not enjoy the view however as sitting across from her, elbows propped on the pool's edge and uncomfortably well manicured chest on full display, was Dorian. 

_ Sera. _ Solas cursed himself for believing the wicked girl, so blinded by the thought of Athim that he didn't see through the, in hindsight, obvious ruse. He felt the heat of an embarrassed flush creeping up his face.

The Tevinter had clearly seen him, he could tell by the mischievous turn of his moustache. There was no way to quietly vanish. Dorian raised an arm in greeting. "Solas my good man, did you come to join us?" Athim had started to turn when the other mage raised his arm, but hearing Solas's name she stiffened and dropped into the water until only her head was visible. Dorian chuckled. "As you can see, Athim is tickled pink at the prospect." She splashed him.

His own cheeks pink, Solas cleared his throat. "Pardon my interruption. It appears Sera made off with the Inquisitor's clothing," he held up his burden slightly. "I intended to return them."

Athim had at last turned around to look at him, her face a most appealing shade of crimson. "Oh!" Her eyes widened and glanced quickly to a nearby rock where Dorian's ostentatious robes were draped and where, it could be assumed, hers had been before the nimble thief had ferreted them away. "Oh my goodness," she flushed a deeper red and coughed uncomfortably. "Thank you Solas. If you could, um, just put them on the rocks?"

"Of course." Solas did as she bid, a smile teasing his lips at her reaction to his unexpected presence.

"You're more than welcome to slide in with us." Dorian's gaze drifted from Solas to Athim and back again, a single knowing eyebrow raised. "Plenty of room and the water is incredibly fine. I could perhaps even be convinced to find entertainment elsewhere if our lovely Inquisitor wished so. Ow— Athim dear, it does tend to hurt when you kick people, even under water."

Athim had sunk even lower into the pool, leaving only her eyes and blushing forehead visible. Solas felt his own flush returning. "No thank you Dorian, though the offer is appreciated. Perhaps another time." The smile her flashed was entirely for the woman.

She raised out of the water just enough to quietly agree "Another time," an embarrassed but eager smile tilting her lips.

"Both of you suit yourselves." Dorian declared, arms raised in exasperation. Solas gave a half bow, then headed back out of the clearing, refusing himself the indulgence of glancing back. Once he cleared the trees and was out of sight he heard Dorian's well carrying voice as he spoke to Athim. "I'm  _ trying _ to help you Athy! He's clearly interested, the wretch just needs a good push. What better push than naked into warm water?" This was followed by a loud splash and the man's startled shout. Solas smirked, imagining Athim aggressively splashing him, her face bright red and twisted with annoyance. He chuckled, his own blush fading as he walked back to camp. He would have to think of a suitable reprisal for Sera.


	15. Dalish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas examines the Anchor. He and Athim discuss it.  
> (Post Balcony Scene; Pre Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts)

The skin of his fingers was incredibly soft as they brushed over her palm, dancing around the green glow that emanated from it’s center. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him examining her hand, the book which she held before her face was forgotten in favor of more interesting pursuits. She loved surreptitiously watching him. The way his eyes scanning over details, taking in every minutiae; the way he pursed his lips in thought.

"I can feel your eyes on me, Vhenan." One corner of his mouth pulled slightly up. “You are not half so subtle as you believe yourself to be.” His study of her hand did not stop as he spoke.

She huffed playfully and snapped her book shut. “I can be, you know.”

His gaze flicked over to her and the intensity of his attention caused her heart to skip a beat. “You’ll have to show me sometime. I must have missed it between the avalanche and the time manipulation.”

“I’d like to point out that neither of those things were  _ technically  _ my fault.” She tossed the book into the grass beside her. He chuckled and she reflexively felt a smile creep across her face at the sound. "What are you looking for? A way through?"

He laughed again, the skin around his eyes wrinkling with the expression. "I haven't examined it closely since before you awoke in the mountains. As you've now had it for so long I wished to see if it had changed since then."

"It's been more than a year, Solas. You could have asked at any time you know." As she spoke he entwined his fingers with hers, palm against the back of her hand. She shifted slightly to lean back against his shoulder.

"I could have, yes." He slid his right arm around her back to rest gently against her ribs.

“So why didn’t you?”

Behind her, his shoulder moved in a loose shrug. “I suppose it is that I didn’t know you as I do now. How would you have reacted to such a request?” He moved her hand, the dappled sunlight playing gently over her skin. “I know now such reservations were unfounded.”

Athim watched their hands moving together and relished the way his hands felt around her. As usual his interest attracted her own. “Has it changed?”

“It has.” He brought his right hand around her body to lay a finger on her palm, inadvertently pulling her closer to him. The motion set off a familiar flutter in her stomach as being physically close to him never felt mundane. He pointed to the edge of where the glow ended. “See here. The edges of the mark are sharper now. Before it was a rip, a tear in your fabric. Now it more resembles a button hole. Your control over its abilities reflected in the corporeal appearance.”

There was something in his tone which caught her attention, an apprehension uncalled for in the current discussion. “Button holes eventually fray with continued use.” She curled her fingers into her palm, obscuring the mark from sight. “Do you think that will happen to the Anchor?”

He looked at her, serious eyes probing over her face with the same severity they had her hand. “It’s possible.” The trepidation was gone from his voice. “It should not concern you now however. Your will is such I would hazard such fraying would take many years and many blows.”

Despite his reassurance, and the surety of his delivery, Athim was not deterred. “But it is possible—”

“I would very much like to kiss you, Vhenan.”

Her eyes refocused on his, any thoughts of the Anchor and it’s possible future state were wiped from her mind. A coy smile slid across her face and she turned her body toward him, her right hand coming to rest on his thigh just above his knee. “Then why haven’t you?”

He needed no more prompting, catching her lips with his nearly before the words left her mouth.

  
An Inquisition scout, sent by Leliana to locate the Inquisitor, turned on his heel and, without a pause, headed back past the stables and through the merchant's stalls toward the fortress. He would inform the Spymaster that Lady Lavellan was indisposed. If she or Ambassador Montilyet had the courage to intrude upon the  _ discussion  _ taking place, they were welcome to it. He for one, did not.


	16. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is supposed to be a lesson in the Fade turns to fun and games.  
> (Post Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts; Pre Here Lies the Abyss)

Finding Solas in the Fade had become as easy to Athim as breathing, even when he wasn't expecting her. They had not made plans for that evening as they often did, but as she had drifted to sleep in her chambers her thoughts strayed to the man, and when she opened her eyes in the Fade he was there. He was leaning on the trunk of a Willow tree, looking out over an unfamiliar marsh, but as she arrived he turned to look at her over one shoulder.

"Did I not just wish you good eve with a word to sleep well?"

She smirked, crossing soft moss on bare feet to stand beside him. "This is really your fault you know. That goodnight kiss left something to be desired."

He laughed, full throated and deep in a way he never did in the waking world. "What do you expect from me when I know Dorian is prowling the library railing eager for just such a titillating scene?"

"I expect you to kiss me, Vhenan, and hang Dorian Pavus." She playfully poked a finger to his chest in rebuke, realizing only then that it was bare, the shirt he wore hanging open at the front.

"I shall keep that in mind," he raised one eyebrow, a simmer of heat in his eyes telegraphing his intention even before he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her chest tightly against his own, catching her in an engulfing kiss. Even forewarned, Athim found herself gasping against his lips at the sudden grab and he took her open mouth as an invitation, rolling his tongue along hers, drawing a sound very much like a purr from her throat. She let her hands caress up his sinewy arms to his shoulders then down his lean muscular back. He responded in kind, his palms sliding down her frame to cup her ass and give the supple flesh a playful squeeze. She giggled into his mouth, gently nipping at his tongue as her fingers found purchase on the sides of his neck, just below his ears.

With great effort Solas pulled back from the kiss, his face still so close she could feel his slightly labored hot breath against her skin. "Was that better?"

She chuckled, running her thumb along the edge of his ear. "Much."

"I'm glad to hear it." He tucked a curl of russet hair behind her ear and lovingly pressed his lips to her forehead.

Athim looked past his shoulder out over the marsh, letting her hands drop from his neck. Her left found his right and she intertwined her fingers with his. "Where is this? I don't recognize it."

He turned to join her in observing the landscape. "A peaceful place from my youth.”

“It’s lovely.” Muted sunshine reflected off cerulean pools bordered by thick brush plants and covered in flowering water lilies. The air was thick with the sound of insects and perfumed with the wet green smell of growing things.

"Show me somewhere from your youth." He gave her an encouraging nod when she looked at him hesitantly. Over the preceding months he had been encouraging her to explore her ability to manipulate the Fade. It had been little things mostly: conjuring and dispelling objects, altering color or smell, changing her or Solas' clothes. Never something as encompassing as changing the entire environment. The confidence in his eyes chased away her reservations and she briskly nodded back, releasing his hand.

She chose a memory from her childhood and carefully recalled the details. The smell of wild blackberries, dappled sunlight straining through a thick leafy canopy, the sound of a spring somewhere close by. She touched the Fade with the part of her that made her a mage, the part that always reached for this place, and gave it her memories. It was not that she was changing it, exerting her will on it, rather, she told it what she wanted and it acquiesced. As Solas watched the world around them swam in hues of green, brown, and blue; an exquisite watercolor of color and emotion. Then the colors solidified and Athim gasped with delight. The sparse elms, surrounded by thick brush and fruit bushes, bursting with ripe berries, the single fallen hollow oak, even the distant smell of cooking food from the aravels. It was precisely how she remembered it.

“This is in the Freemarshes is it not?” She spun to face him. The joy she felt at accomplishing the feat was completely outshone by the pride radiating from Solas.

“Yes,” she was breathless with exhilaration. “When I was a child, before my abilities emerged, me and the other children in my clan would spend countless hours playing here.”

“It was a happy time,” he offered the words as a statement rather than a question. “What did you play?”

She looked at him with a mischievous gleam in her eye, a wild idea seizing her. “ _ Diala’i’vena _ .” He had time to raise a single inquisitive eyebrow then she was gone, racing into the underbrush, a melodious peal of laughter spilling from her as she went. 

Behind her she heard only silence. Her footfalls slowed and she looked back over her shoulder. Perhaps she had been wrong, perhaps it was foolish to imagine him following her. Then there was a crash of brushwood and she shrieked, picking up speed and conjuring more shrubs behind her as she went to obscure her passage. Spying a tall elm ahead she sprang, flowing up the tree like water, hands still practiced at the task so many years later. She climbed into the tree’s branches and held her breath, hearing his approach. As he crashed through the treeline Athim had to struggle not to make a sound. He was winded, laughter coloring his cheeks and brambles caught in his clothing, shirt blowing out behind him. She had never seen him so careless. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure it would give away her hiding place.

He slowed and began cautiously peering into bushes, and circling around trees. “I know you’re here Vhenan,” he called out wearing a playful smirk. Athim clapped a hand over her mouth, not trusting her own control. He passed directly below her and she resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. She could have, as she hung only a few feet above him, but instead she held herself still, going as far as to bite her own tongue lest it make sound of its own accord. 

“ _ Oinu, oinu, hama'ma mahn? _ ” If Athim hadn’t had her hand over her mouth she would have gasped. Solas knew the song. She could hardly believe it. Her focus lapsed in shock and she lost sight of him, but found herself unwilling to move for fear of being discovered. Using only her eyes she sought him out, ears keen for any signs of movement. 

“ _ Oinu, oinu, hama'ma amahn? _ ” His voice was too close, and on the last word she felt a hand encircle her low hanging ankle. She shrieked again as he pulled, causing her to tumble out of the tree. His plan had surely been to catch her in his arms, but gravity and Athim’s natural grace instead spilled her into him too hard, causing them both to crash to the ground, her landing face first on his bare chest.

They were both laughing. Boisterous, uninhibited laughter which pulled tears from their eyes and stitched their sides. Catching her breath at last Athim propped herself up with a hand on either side of his head and looked down at him. The smile he gave her was heart-stopping.

“I am unsure if I won or lost the game,” he said, chuckling. She laughed again, then yelped as he put an arm around her waist and rolled them over so his face was suddenly hovering above hers. “Won, I think,” He kissed her, but to Athim’s dismay, pulled back too soon, just a gentle press of lips. The smile he gave her was wicked. “Goodnight Vhenan.” 

“Wait!” She shouted the word into the empty air of her chambers, sitting up in bed as the words left her mouth. Realizing what had happened she glowered. “That’s cheating!” she shouted again, slamming her fists into the soft mattress. With a grumble she roughly tossed herself back onto her pillow and pulled the blanket up to her ears. “ _ Delav’ishan. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Diala’i’vena - Dalish hide and seek (lit. shroud and find)
> 
> Oinu, oinu, hama'ma mahn? Oinu, oinu, hama'ma amahn? - Play song traditional sang by the "finder" in Diala'v'vena (lit. Little rabbit, little rabbit, lie you where? Little rabbit, little rabbit, lie you here?)
> 
> Delav'ishan - Stupid man


	17. Arlathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very special date night.  
> (Post Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts; Pre Here Lies the Abyss)

Athim checked the clock again.

Three minutes until ten.

She couldn't brush the image of Solas's flushed cheeks from her mind. The way he had cast his eyes down, so uncertain, as he suggested that he join her in her chambers, in her bed, for a trip to the Fade. Her heart had sped up, even at the suggestion, and it was still racing in anticipation. The delighted surprise that had twinkled in his eyes when she had timidly responded that yes, she thought that would be nice, told her she had expected her to say no. They had slept near each other before, naps in the rotunda or their bedrolls pulled close in camp, but never  _ together _ . She patted her flaming cheeks with her palms in an attempt to cool them as she paced her chambers. The fact that she would be sleeping beside him, truly alone and not surrounded by their companions, made her blush all the way down to her toes. While they had shared private, intimate moments these had always been brief or, more often, in the Fade. 

Of course there were other  _ intimate _ things two people in a shared bed could do. She patted her cheeks faster, the thought redoubling the heat radiating from her pink skin. It would be a lie to say the possibility had never crossed her mind before. It crossed her mind more often than she would like: When he stretched after waking or as he cast on the battlefield, his muscles taut and lean. Reading quietly together, his hand resting gently on her thigh or the small of her back, thumb tracing delicate circles against her. When he kissed her, desperately pulling at her lips like a drowning man gasping for breath, his hands caressing down her back. She longed for his touch, ached for more than their lingering kisses and heated looks, but he always stopped himself, often breaking away from her with what appeared to be a monumental level of effort. They had never discussed the subject, and the pained look that often colored his eyes when he pulled away from her made her loath to bring it up. She was content to wait until he was ready, savoring the tentative embraces and the ardent desire in his eyes.

Athim checked the clock again.

Two minutes until ten.

She sighed with nervous exasperation, hands dropping away from her face. Her fingers anxiously wound into the viridian gossamer dressing gown she wore. The robe was new, as was the white lace nightgown underneath it. After agreeing to Solas’s request she had, in an embarrassed panic, gone to Josephine. She owned no nightclothes, sleeping most often in her small clothes and nothing else. She couldn’t do that to Solas and, even more so, not to herself. Josie had asked no questions, but wore a knowing smirk, as she handled everything. Athim has not been consulted on any piece of the ensemble. The nightgown fell to just above her knees, lined in white satin, the fitted bodice and thin straps leaving her feeling alarmingly exposed. That was what the dressing gown was for, as Josie knew her well. The color contrasted both her honey eyes and auburn hair, the wide sleeves and length making her feel concealed despite being sheer. Observing herself in the ambassador’s full length mirror (for she owned no such thing herself) even Athim found herself besotted. Josie had done an excellent job. She did worry what Solas would think however. The combination was elegant but provocative, nothing like what she would have chosen for herself, and she was worried it would give the wrong impression. By the time it had arrived however it was too late to make other arrangements. 

Continuing to pace the room she pulled on her fingertips, deciding how she would greet him. “Welcome” seemed too formal, “Hello” too mundane, and greeting him with “ _ ma Vhenan _ ” in her current garb was out of the question. She of course recognized it was a foolish exercise, how she greeted him didn’t really matter, but her restless mind would not release the idea.

Athim checked the clock again.

One minute until t—

“Good evening, Athim.”

She shot out of her skin, heart thudding so loud she was sure he could hear it. “Solas!”

He chuckled, keen eyes surreptitiously running from her head to bare feet and back up again. “ _ Ir abelas _ . I did not mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” she replied automatically, then corrected when he raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “I mean, it’s fine.”

He crossed to her, laying a hand on her arm and letting it slide down to take her hand. "You look lovely,  _ ma Vhenan _ ."

" _Ma serannas_ ," Her fingers entwined with his, the pounding of her heart still loud in her ears.

"Did you dress up for me?" The fingers of his free hand brushed down the gossamer of her gown. "I am not complaining of course, but this is not what I would expect you to wear to bed."

Though his hand did not touch her, as it skirted close to her breast and stomach she could feel goosebumps break out on the skin of her arms.

"I didn't have anything to wear." He tilted his head, intrigued, and the tips of her ears flushed pink. "I asked Josie to get me something." She felt herself squirming under his gaze. "She went a bit overboard."

He leaned down and kissed the side of her face, just in front of her ear, then whispered, his voice low and his hot breath tickling her skin. "I would say she did very well. You are ravishing." She shivered as heat erupted low in her body, spreading quickly to fill her. Turning her head slightly to see his eyes, she caught only a glimpse of smoldering grey before his lips were on hers. She made a small sound of surprise in her throat before closing her eyes and eagerly returning his kiss.

It was Athim who pulled away, allowing him only the barest taste of her tongue before leaning back, despite his resistance, and giving him the same once over he had given her. "You didn't dress up for me I see," he was dressed as he usually was, in a plain tunic and pants, feet bare, and the wolf bone worn on a band around his neck.

"I should have been informed it was a formal event, then perhaps I would have." He teased, hand on his hip in mock indignation.

"I'll make sure the invitations are sent out good and early next time." She smirked. "I would hate to see you so underdressed again."

"Underdressed? I feel overdressed for the occasion."

“That problem has a very easy solution,  _ ma Vhenan _ ,” she raised a suggestive eyebrow, making him laugh. To her surprise he released her hand and removed the leather band from around his neck and held it out, dropping it into her fumbling hands before her brain finished registering what he was doing. She gaped, shocked lips parted, as he peeled his tunic off and dropped it to the ground.

"Problem solved," he quipped, spreading his hands in a presentational manner.

Athim blinked repeatedly at him, every thought in her head erased by his toned, muscular chest. "I- um-" she closed her eyes, then opened them pointedly looking at the amused grin on his face. "You could have given me some kind of warning, you know."

"And miss out on this? What would be the point?" She frowned petulantly and shoved his shoulder with one palm, which only made his grin wider. Dropping the wolf jaw bone on top of his tunic she shoved him again, with both hands, a playful smile breaking through her affected frown. Solas caught her wrists as she did and pulled up, their height difference meaning she ended up on her toes, pulling uselessly against his hands as he laughed, holding her hands above her head. Athim pulled her knees up, both feet coming off the ground at once, and the sudden change in weight distribution made it impossible to hold her up. He made a sound of alarm and it made her feel giddy, it was so rare she caught him off guard. She landed in a squat on the balls of her feet, the jolt of her hitting the ground allowing her to pull her hands from his grasp and she popped back up, giggling wildly as she spun on her heel and attempted to dash away. But Solas was quick, and he had his hands around her waist before she could get any space between them. She shrieked gaily as he pulled her back, lifting her off the ground, struggling in his arms as he carried her across the room. Both of them were breathless with adrenaline and laughter. He tossed her gently onto the bed where she bounced softly on her stomach. She started to push herself up, intending to leap away off the opposite side, but he caught her wrist and used her momentum to flip her onto her back. Then he was on top of her, legs straddling her hips, hands on her wrists pushing them back into the mattress, and lips on hers, stealing the last of her waning breath.

"Are you always this rambunctious before bed?" He was breathless, his eyes and voice both dark with excitement.

"Only with you." She pushed ineffectually against his hands, which only made him press down on them harder. Her back arched involuntarily as he did, her breasts gently pressing against his bare chest.

"Lucky me." He smirked lasciviously and kissed her again and her head sank into the soft mattress with the force of it. She pushed again at his hands, wanting to wrap her arms around him, but he would not release her. He chuckled into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her skill in a way that made her toes curl. She mewled, the sound muffled, and pushed her hips up into him, nipping gently at his tongue and lips.

Solas broke the kiss, with effort as Athim had her teeth softly caught on his lip. He looked down at her, eyes once again scanning her form. The heat in his eyes made her quiver and she plaintively arched her neck up towards him, straining to taste him again. He slowly licked his lips, breathing deeply, regaining his composure. "You are deliciously distracting,  _ ma Vhenan _ ."

"Solas," she whined, wiggling her hips under him. "Don't you want to kiss me again?"

She watched him swallow hard as he looked down at her with hungry eyes and knew they reflected her own desire. "I do, very much."

She pouted, lips pursing. "But you're not going to."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I recall someone being very excited for a special visit to the Fade I had planned for this evening." He purposefully turned his eyebrows and let his mouth fall into a look of disappointment. "If you've changed your mind though…"

She knew the expression was forced; he was attempting to delicately shift her attention away from the feel of his body against hers, to rebuff her desires without offending her. An unnecessary ruse as she had no reason to be offended. It was abundantly obvious that he desired her, she knew his hesitation had nothing to do with  _ her _ at all, but she played along as usual, biting her lip and looking pensive.

"I am eager to see what you have planned…" she feigned an apologetic look, smiling sheepishly. "Perhaps we could continue  _ this _ ," she wriggled her wrists which he was still holding down with a distracting level of force, "another time?"

He smiled knowingly, acknowledging their shared participation in the game. "That would be more than acceptable." He kissed her forehead, then pushed to his feet on the side of the bed, holding out a hand to help her up.

"What  _ do _ you have planned?" She took his hand and let him help her up. The interest in her voice was genuine. The two of them spent most of their nights together in the Fade and, while he often planned lessons for her, he had never been so secretive about it.

"A surprise." He said simply. She frowned, frustrated by the mystery, and he chuckled. "Shall we?"

"Oh all right. I don't know if I like you keeping secrets from me," she teased, smiling playfully.

For the briefest moment a shadow passed over his eyes and Athim bit her lip, chiding herself. Jumping back into their usual flirtatious banter so soon was the wrong choice. Then he smiled and it was like the shadow never happened. Gently, almost tentatively, he pushed the dressing gown back off her shoulders and the sound it made as it slid to a pool on the ground was like wind hissing through leaves. He kissed her just to the left of her mouth, a soft, tender kiss that, to Athim, was more precious than any feverish, carnal kiss could be.

She smiled up at him, feeling none of the trepidation she had expected without the robe. That was the way it was with Solas though. He gave her confidence where none existed. Turning to the bed she pulled back the covers, then looked back at him over her shoulder. “Do you have a side preference?” She had never shared the bed, or any bed, so she was unsure of the proper etiquette for the situation.

He shrugged. “Whichever side you don’t prefer.”

Athim considered, then climbed into the bed, scooching over to the side closest to the west balcony. He slid under the blankets beside her and she immediately felt a flush creeping up her neck. It was happening. She lay on her back under the blankets, pulling anxiously on her fingers, eyes wide staring at the ceiling. How was she supposed to sleep, she wondered. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, making her acutely aware of how close he was. The blankets shifted slightly and his hand covered hers, holding them still. She turned her head and found him propped up on his elbow looking at her adoringly. Taking hold of her left hand, he pulled gently, rolling her towards him. At the same time he tucked his arm under her neck, so she came to rest with her head on his shoulder, the way she most often slept when they were able to nap together in the rotunda. The position was comfortable and she relaxed into it, chuckling slightly. "I'm overthinking again."

He squeezed her hand. "You do that quite often." She couldn't see his face but she could feel the smile in the words. He smelled of wood, and paint, and magic, an earthy calming smell which she breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. Her anxiety abated, she found herself very tired.

"I worry," she said, voice already drooping with sleep, a yawn slipping out between her words. "Because I want everything to be perfect."

"This is perfect," he kissed her hair. "You don't need to worry."

_ The room wasn't familiar but it filled Athim with a strong feeling of déjà vu. The parquet floor seemed to be cast from crystal or colored glass and it reflected the light from dozens of brilliant magical flames into shimmering rainbows. Heavy, forest green, velvet curtains lined every wall, giving the room a luxurious secluded feeling in addition to obscuring any means of ingress. The furnishings amplified the feeling of privacy, sitting chairs and a chaise lounge upholstered in the same velvet as the curtains and a large mirrored vanity which appeared to be formed of living wood. The room seemed far too large for the sparse furniture, the sitting area seeming to float in the middle of the room almost as if the space was meant for a staged performance. Her emotions vacillated between feeling comfortable and protected to small and vulnerable. Athim walked to the vanity, gasping slightly as she saw herself reflected in its glass. She wore a gown spun out of silken amber which caught and toyed with the light and which exactly matched the color of her eyes. The bodice was constructed primarily of wide bands of fabric which wrapped and twisted in intricate knots covering her from shoulders to hips, strategically placed openings running down her sides and spine. The skirt began where the knots ended and was composed of wider versions of the same bands in indeterminate layers, creating the illusion of a single unbroken skirt, the mirage broken as she walked, her knees and bare feet peeking from between the fabric. Her hair was pulled up and tied in a complex series of plaits and braids, which mirrored the knots of the bodice, and her face was elegantly painted in multiple hues of gold and bronze which drew attention to her large eyes and full lips. Athim had never been one to describe herself as beautiful, but looking at the woman in the mirror she could not deny her own beauty. She looked down at herself, confirming that the mirror was reflecting truthfully, then spun in delight, watching the way the skirt moved like water as she did. _

_ “Do you like it?” _

_ “SOLAS!” She shrieked, and for the second time that evening, leapt out of her own skin in shock. She heard him chuckling at her, and glowered as she turned to look at him standing by the sitting area. When she did however, the frown evaporated and her lips parted, air rushing out of her lungs. _

_ If she was beautiful, Solas was perfection given breath. _

_ His doublet was covered with knots, matching her, but in a deep sage green, accented with the same amber gold as she wore. The long sleeves widened as they went until his hands were engulfed in asymmetrical bells, his muscular legs encased in leggings of gold, and his face painted similarly to her own, but with hints of red which called back to her Vallaslin. They were a matched pair. He grinned, plainly enjoying her reaction. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” The amusement in his voice indicated that he had every intention of startling her, but she couldn’t seem to focus on his words enough to be angry with him. He tried again. "Do you like the dress, Athim?" _

_ She nodded dumbly. "Yes, it's incredible. You look, just," her words failed her. There were no words in common or elven to describe how good he looked. So she said the only thing she could think. "Woof." _

_ He laughed and approached her, cupping her cheek with one hand. "The feeling is mutual." _

_ She nuzzled into that hand, just as soft as it was in the waking world. "This is a nice surprise." Her mental faculties were returning, the words coming out without any stammering. _

_ "You think this is the surprise?" He chuckled. “Oh, ma Vhenan. We have not even arrived yet." _

_ "There's more?!" She was dumbfounded. The beautiful, unsettling, enigmatic room, the clothes, him looking the way he did, it was already one of the most wonderful things that had ever happened to her. _

_ "This is merely a dressing room," he gestured at the vanity. _

_ "A dressing room?" Her voice was incredulous. _

_ "More accurately described as a retiring room. Somewhere to escape to, refresh one self, sneak off to with an amorous companion." _

_ "It's massive. How much space does one need for that?" _

_ "Perhaps not this much for one, but they were designed to accommodate numerous companions," he raised a suggestive eyebrow and Athim flushed. _

_ "You're telling me this is an orgy room?" _

_ He shrugged, the movement making the shimmering rainbows of light reflect off his doublet. "That would be an apt description." _

_ "I would expect more soft furnishings in a room designed for… such things." She couldn't keep from grinning childishly. _

_ "Ah, that is because you have never cleaned up after such an event." He teased, making her sneer in disgust. _

_ She looked around the room again, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "Well then, what is the surprise?" _

_ "Come," he offered her his arm and she graciously took it, pulling herself close to his side and relishing the feel of his silken sleeve as it brushed against the skin of her waist through the openings in her dress. He led her to a section of the wall, which to Athim looked no different from any other, and pulled back the heavy drapes to reveal a tall door inlaid with filigree coils of the same crystalline material that composed the floor. Pushing it open, he drew her through it into an enormous hall. It was the biggest room Athim had ever seen. The ceiling stretched up so high she strained to see the top and the space itself could have held Skyhold's throne room three times with room to spare. The crystalline floor continued into the chamber but here was inlaid with shimmering gold which ran up the walls in intricate patterns of trees and waterfalls. Floating chandeliers of wrought gold and silver hung at all levels, illuminating the room as brightly as a cloudless day. Tables piled high with exquisite food and drinks ran along the walls, broken up by lavish seating areas. In the middle of it all was a dancefloor where hundreds of couples, dressed as fine as Solas and she, danced in complex and mystifying patterns. Athim was dazzled, eyes so wide she feared for a moment they would pop out of her skull. It was the most gorgeous sight she had ever set eyes on. Music was playing, an intoxicating blend of instruments she couldn't identify, seemingly coming from everywhere at once, the sound wrapping around her like a tapestry of harmonies. She could also hear voices, people speaking all around her. Straining to hear them she caught individual words, but most of the dialogue was lost in translation. Elvhen. They were speaking Elvhen, she realized with a start, but a complete and unbroken language she knew only pieces of. With this realization she focused on the dancers again. _

_ "They're all elves…" the words slipped from between her lips, voice squeezed tight with awe. She had never seen so many elves in one place. She looked at Solas who was still holding her arm, watching her reaction with the same enraptured admiration that she gave the room. "Where are we, Solas?" _

_ "Arlathan." His voice was soft and solemn, making the name sound like a prayer. _

_ She gaped at him. Her people had stories of Arlathan, and she had heard Solas recount his travels through the deep memories of the Fade, through Arlathan, many times. Nothing she had heard prepared her for the abject beauty of the place, for the presence of the people, her people, before they were broken, muted, and slowed. There were tears stinging her eyes and she tightened her arm on Solas's. "This is really what we once were? What we once built?" _

_ "This is Arlathan at the height of her power. A celebration of magic and the elven people." _

_ She went up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you Solas. Ma bel'vhenan serannas." She glowed with gratitude, finding it difficult to put words together which adequately expressed how much it meant to her. "This is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me." _

_ "I only wish I could give you more than memories of this place." His smile was shadowed with regret. _

_ "I don't need Arlathan, Solas." The shadow in his eyes disturbed her and she comfortingly cupped his cheek with her left hand, even in the Fade the glow of the Anchor lighting his skin. "It is beautiful, but do not be sad that you cannot give me something which was gone long before I was born. The memory is more than enough." _

_ He leaned slightly into her hand, closing his eyes. "You always offer such refreshing perspectives ma Vhenan. You humble me."  _

_ "I shouldn't." He opened his eyes and looked quizzical. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "There's nothing wrong with wanting this. This is worth longing for." _

_ "Then why do you not long for it?" _

_ Considering, her attention moving away from his face. She looked over the room again, the incredible sights, sounds, and smells, the elven people alive and immortal, magic which had been long lost, thriving. Why didn't she yearn for it the way she could see in his eyes that Solas did? "I am content with my life. I wake each morning with purpose, I have more than ever before in my life, and," she glanced back to his eyes. "I have you. No grand hall or great empire can compare with that." _

_ The muscles in his face relaxed and a sigh escaped his lips as they curled into a quiet smile. His right hand slid behind her neck and he kissed her. There was a reverence in his touch, the way his lips and tongue caressed hers conveying feelings he could not, or chose not, to express with words. She felt his gratitude, his honor at her feelings which he didn't believe he deserved, and above all his fierce love for her. _

_ "Dance with me, Vhenan." He whispered to her, their lips parted just enough for the words to escape. _

_ "I don't know how, not the way they dance." The image of the dancers in their elegant sequences was still sharp in her mind. Their grace and precision so complete, it made her feel ungainly standing still. _

_ "I will guide you." She leaned her head back to look doubtfully at him. She was notoriously uncoordinated. He smirked at the look. "Trust me." _

_ The apprehension dropped from her face. She trusted him implicitly. He said he would guide her, and she knew he would. She nodded and he gave her a gracious half bow, releasing her arm in order to take her hand in his delicate grip, then led her slowly to the dance floor. The dancers around them flowed like water and, a moment after Solas guided her right hand to his shoulder and placed his hand on the small of her back, they joined the current. Solas led with the confidence of a practiced expert, as he had at the Winter Palace, even in this strange choreography. Athim felt as if she was floating, her feet barely touching the ground as Solas carried her through the movements. Everything about the dream was perfect. _

_ Almost everything. _

_ Something began to niggle at Athim's consciousness, like an itch she couldn't scratch. Solas noticed her growing discomfort and slowed their steps, pulling her body closer to his own. "What is it?" _

_ "I'm not sure," she said, brows pulled down in confusion and frustration. "I think it's my body in the waking world. I think I might—" she blinked… _

And when she opened her eyes again she was in her bed beside Solas, the sensation that was merely a niggling in the Fade was now a sharp, pinching itch encircling her body just below her bust line.  _ The nightgown _ she thought angrily. As she had moved in her sleep the skirt had twisted around her legs, making the bodice tighten until it was unbearable. She growled with exasperation and threw back the covers, pushing herself out of bed.

Behind her Solas stirred and opened his eyes, groggily propping himself up on one elbow when he saw her out of bed. “What happened?”

“It’s this blasted nightgown,” Athim tugged at it as she moved to the foot of the bed. “I knew this was a terrible idea.” The tugging wasn’t helping. The entire garment seemed to have shifted slightly to the left and she couldn’t make it straighten out again. “ _ Prear etunash _ .” As she struggled against the fabric she spied Solas’s discarded tunic where it had been left on her floor. With no thought but that of comfort, she hastily pulled the lace and silk prison over her head and threw it away from her. She heard Solas sit up a little straighter and realized with a belated start that she was very nearly naked, wearing nothing but her small clothes. She quickly snatched up the tunic and pulled it on over her head, keeping her back to the bed as she did. The shirt smelled like him and she breathed in deeply, the feel of the soft linen heavenly after the monstrosity of her previous attire. She padded contentedly back to the bed where he waited, a prideful, slightly heated smile on his face. “You don’t mind do you?” She asked with a knowing smirk, his expression making it very clear that he did not.

He shook his head. “Not at all. In fact I think it suits you.” Her cheeks flushed slightly and she climbed back into bed. She kissed him quickly, a simple brush of lips, then rolled onto her side to face the balcony, pulling his arm around her. Solas did not resist, easily conforming his body to hers, chest pressed against her back and their legs slightly entangled. His right hand rested lightly against her breast and she nestled back into him, the position both tantalizing and paradoxically calming. She was wrapped in the smell and feel of him and it was, to Athim, more exquisite than the vision of Arlathan. She felt his breath on the sensitive skin of her ear before he spoke, the sensation making her feel feverish. “Shall we pick up where we left off?” The rough quality of his voice made her wonder if he meant their Fade dream or the earlier, interrupted activities. Despite her keen interest in finding out his intent with the comment she couldn’t force back a yawn, prompting him to chuckle low against her ear. “Sleep  _ Vhenan _ . You still owe me a dance.”

As she drifted back to sleep with a satisfied smile, Athim pulled his arms tighter around her.  _ Someday _ she thought sleepily, savoring the feeling of him pressed against her.  _ Just not tonight _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:  
> Ma bel'vhenan serannas: Thank you from the bottom of my heart (lit. deep heart thanks)  
> Prear etunash: Piece of shit


	18. Ancient Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Athim joins Solas in a journey to the deep fade.  
> (Post Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts; Pre Here Lies the Abyss)

"This is a good place." Solas surveyed the chamber with an eager expression, then turned back to Athim, gleam in his eye. "Can you feel the Fade pressing against the veil?"

She could, and she nodded, her excited smile dulled around the edges with anxiety. Noticing, he came back to her and took one of her hands in his.

"Ma Vhenan, what is it?" His eyes were so filled with concern that she flushed, pink rising on the crests of her cheeks, in embarrassment.

"I just…" she sighed apprehensively. "Are you sure it will work with me? Will I be able to do it?"

He cupped her cheek with his free hand. "You will. I have no doubt." He smiled at her, one corner of his mouth pulling up slightly. "I understand why you are nervous, but I assure you, there is no need."

She nodded again, loving the way his hand felt against her face as she did, and smiled hopefully. He could see the tension around her eyes indicating that she remained unconvinced. Releasing her hand, Solas took her face in both of his hands and looked directly into her eyes, the motion startling her slightly. "Athim. You converse with spirits, alter the fabric of the Fade with only your will, and walk as easily through dreams as you do the waking world." His thumbs gently caressed her cheeks. "You have nothing to be concerned about." The worry cleared from her eyes and he smiled warmly, gently kissing her brow.

" _ Ma serranas _ , Vhenan. I am sorry I doubt myself so often."

He chuckled, releasing her with a final lingering touch down the side of her neck. "For one with so much will, you have surprising little pride."

She blushed again and playfully pushed past his shoulder into the center of the chamber. "Here then?"

"Yes, I believe this will be an excellent spot."

Athim dropped her pack and Solas followed suit. They set about rolling out bedrolls and lighting lanterns around the small space as the light leaking in through the many ceiling collapses faded. Occasionally their hands would brush and they would share momentary smiles of anticipation, which nearly always elicited a flush along Athim's cheeks. Being with him like this, it was still so new, so unexpected, she continually expected to wake and find it had all been a lovely dream.

"Do you think the others will be alright out there?" She stood and looked back towards the ruin's entrance where the rest of their traveling party was camped.

"I doubt there is much Master Tethras and Warden Blackwall could not handle on their own now that the rifts in this area have been closed." He came up behind her and slid a hand around her waist. When he spoke again his mouth was close to her ear and she could feel his breath on her skin. "And we are not so far in that they could not call for us. Though I hope they do not." His voice sent a pleasant shiver down to her toes.

She turned her head towards him, smiling softly. "Let's go to bed then."

He chuckled, and gently kissed her, a gentle brush of lips. "Yes. Let's."

They walked back to the bedrolls together and laid down, arranging themselves together. Athim nestled into the crook of Solas's arm, left hand resting gently on his chest, his right hand resting gently atop it and his left arm wrapped around her back. 

She felt her trepidation returning. Solas was so sure she was ready and she trusted him, but she could feel the anxiety beginning to weigh on her again. She had hoped for this opportunity since the first time he had told her tales of his journeys into the fade. Exploring memories no living being could recall, it had been beyond her wildest imaginings. She lay with her eyes closed, attempting to swallow her nerves and sleep, but her mind could not stop. Not even the familiar, earthy smell of Solas seemed to still her thoughts as it usually did, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of her hand suddenly another distraction rather than a comfort.

"Vhenan. Sleep." There was power behind his words and she felt her mind still at last, drifting peacefully into unconsciousness.

_ "Did you spell me to sleep?" She asked him incredulously, her pinpointed will drawing her directly to his side as she entered the Fade. _

_ He chuckled. "Would you have preferred I let you toss and turn the whole night?" _

_ She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. "You could have asked." _

_ "I knew you would say yes." _

_ "Not the point." _

_ There was a pause, then he bowed his head apologetically. "Ir abelas, Vhenan. You are right."  _

_ “Ma serannas.” she smiled gently. “I forgive you.” As he straightened up she took a moment to take in the surroundings. The chamber looked the same, but it was whole and untouched by time. The domed ceiling was free of holes, no piled rubble edged the room and there were frescos on the walls which, waking, had been obliterated. Athim approached them, picking out images of rivers and mountains and scattered among them, figures of humans. They were rough but beautiful, and she found herself trailing fingertips along the designs. _

_ "It was built before the second blight." Solas offered, coming to stand beside her. "It was likely abandoned during the chaos that came with it." _

_ "If that is true it's remarkable it still stands." Her voice was filled with awe as she once again observed the chamber. _

_ "Come." He took her hand and led her deeper into the ruin, through an archway which in the waking world had collapsed, barring passage.  _

_ "Was this a fortress?" She asked suddenly. "A guard post, a barracks, someplace that housed warriors?" _

_ Solas looked at her, one eyebrow raised curiously. "Why do you assume so?" _

_ Questions answered with questions. "It's a feeling…" she trailed off, searching for the words to explain. "I can feel the echo of clashing weapons in my limbs, the exhaustion that comes with hard won victory, the…" the way he was looking at her, head tilted in with a smile curling his lips made her falter and feel foolish. _

_ "Go on," he encouraged her, squeezing her hand gently. "What do you feel?" _

_ "I feel the relief of finding a warm meal waiting after days with nothing but hardtack and spring water," she closed her eyes as she let the sensations flow around her like a current, brushing past but never clinging to her. "The pleasure of well fit armor, knowing it will protect me better than what I had before." Eyes still closed, her brows pulled down slightly and she stopped walking. "The fear that I will never see my dear Maeriayn's face again, that she will never receive my letters, never know what became of me." Athim opened her eyes, looking puzzled. "This doesn't make sense." _

_ "And why not?" Solas looked proud, but she wasn't sure why. "This is the Fade, is it not? If the memory of the building remains captured here as it was, why wouldn't the experiences of those who lived and died in its walls?' _

_ "But I feel them like they're happening to me, not like an observer." _

_ "You have witnessed your own thoughts and desires re-creating the very fabric of the Fade. Why is it so surprising that remembered thoughts would do the same?" There was a chuckle in his voice. He found her confusion amusing, which caused her lips to thin in irritation. _

_ "Because I'm not of the Fade. I'm an interloper, separate from it. Reality bends  _ it _ , not the other way around." Her voice was clipped, frustrated with his glibness. _

_ "You are positive? On both counts?" The way his eyebrows raised as he asked made her pause. She opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it again and looked down in thought. Solas knew infinitely more than her about the Fade, he had been exploring it his entire life. He said it was possible and, more than that, she had experienced it. _

_ "I suppose I'm not…"  _

_ He used one finger to lift her chin. "A lesson for another day." He smiled encouragingly and she nodded firmly. "Come. I believe the answer to your inquiry is ahead." _

_ They passed through another archway into a courtyard, the bright sunlight momentarily blinding her until she put a hand up to shield her eyes. Vision clearing she opened her mouth in a silent gasp of awe. The clearing was full of spirits. Her hand tightened on Solas's in excitement. The spirits had taken on the vague shape of humanoids and we're going through motions which reminded her of the sparring Inquisition's soldiers. She could hear the phantom sounds of swords clashing, grunts, and shouts, smell the sharp pungent smell of sweat. Eyes wide she stared, trying to take everything in. _

_ Solas's hand brushing her cheek broke the spell and she looked at him, realizing at the same time he had been brushing tears from her skin. His eyes shone with adoration and his speechless smile hung open slightly; he was looking at her the way she looked at the Fade.  _

_ Athim felt heat rise in her cheeks. "It's beautiful." She said quietly, turning her head away slightly to conceal her blush. _

_ His hand caught her chin and turned it back, fingertips gentle on her skin. "You are beautiful." His voice held the same reverence as his eyes, and the kiss he gave her was soft, sweet, and yearning. She leaned into it, the hand which was not held by him sliding around his back as his buried itself in the hair at the back of her head. _

_ "Ma serranas, Vhenan." She said the words breathlessly, lips so close they grazed his as she spoke. "This is more than I ever hoped it would be." _


	19. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Truth about Ameridan.  
> (Post Jaws of Hakkon; Pre What Pride had Wrought)

Book under her arm, Athim wandered into the rotunda. It was a treatise on the original Inquisition which Josephine had sent away to Val Royeaux for, and which Athim was eager to read. Solas was seated at his desk at the room's center absorbed in a sketch, eyebrows pulled low in concentration, and he didn't appear to have noticed her entry. She chose not to disturb him, seating herself comfortably on the small couch at the room's edge, leaning on the arm with her legs stretched across the cushions. She opened the heavy tome across her lap and began to read, the irregular  _ scritch scritch _ of Solas's sketching fading into the background as she learned of the first Inquisition's origins.

She didn't notice the sound had stopped until he leaned over the arm of the couch and gently kissed her ear. "A good book?"

She grinned, the soft touch of his lips making her giddy. "Interesting I'd say. Hugely inaccurate of course, but it is fascinating how the humans twisted Ameridan's story to suit the image they wanted it to be."

Solas came around the couch and lifted her feet, resting her calves on his lap as he sat. "History is written by the victors, as they say." He absently petted her leg. "I notice that you have been remarkably quiet about our encounter with the former Inquisitor."

Athim closed the large book and leaned over to set it gently on the floor beside her, lips pursed in thought. "I have. It was a lot to think about."

He took her hand with his left, his right still softly rubbing her leg, the gesture taking on a comforting quality. "Anything you wish to discuss?"

She smiled warmly at him. He was always so interested in her thoughts and opinions and eager to discuss them. He delighted in challenging her ideas and making her critically examine her perspective, but he was never aggressive or pushy. It was one of the many things she loved about him. "It's troubling knowing that the Exalted March against the elves might not have happened if Ameridan had not become trapped in the Frostback Basin."

He nodded, expression contemplative. "The elves lost much when they lost Ameridan."

"I know that dwelling on what might have been is not a fortuitous exercise, but I wonder what we could have been if we had not turned our backs to the second blight." She sighed regretfully.

"You turned your back on no one,  _ Vhenan _ ." He squeezed her hand. "What the elves of the past chose to do, or not to do, is not your burden to carry." He earnestly met her eyes. "Their failings are not yours, just as they were not Ameridan's."

"Thank you Solas," she smiled humbly and kissed the back of his hand. "Sometimes it's hard to remember that not  _ everything _ is my responsibility."

"I have a feeling that is yet another thing you have in common with the previous Inquisitor."

Athim chuckled. "Elven mage who takes too much on their shoulders?"

Solas raised an eyebrow and tilted his head skeptically. "An elven mage who left the life they knew with the goal to help their people, but through their actions became a hero to many and was placed into a position of authority they neither asked for nor wanted."

"Well I suppose when you phrase it like that we do have a bit in common." She assented sheepishly.

"I wasn't finished." He smirked. "Who then gathered companions from numerous races, including a spirit of the Fade, to assist them in protecting the world from forces they could not understand or fight themselves." Athim opened her mouth to agree that the similarities were striking, but he continued speaking before she could. "Who subscribed to not the elven creators or the Maker, but honored both in their own way."

"That's not quite the same is it?" She jumped in, sitting up a little straighter. She was beginning to feel embarrassed by the comparison and hoping to cut the conversation short.

"You may not venerate either but you accept the possibility of the existence of both. It is an equally rare belief as Ameridan's." He countered, undeterred. " _ And _ you have shown the same willingness to sacrifice your own life to protect the lives of the many."

Athim squirmed, her anxious desire to tug at her fingertips thwarted by Solas's hand still holding hers. "I have only done what was needed."

"When no one else would. As did Ameridan." He held her hand a little tighter and leaned imperceptibly closer to her. His voice was gentle. "Why is the comparison making you uncomfortable,  _ Vhenan _ ?"

She cast her eyes down. "Because Ameridan was…" why  _ was _ she so uncomfortable being compared to him? Everything Solas had said was true and yet somehow rang false to her. "He was so strong. He was brave and resolute and I'm no—"

Solas cut her off, the tip of a single finger laid against her lips. " _ You _ are strong,  _ ma Vhenan _ . You are the strongest individual I believe I have ever met. You are passionate and caring, loyal and honest. You are everything Ameridan was and more besides."

A flush warmed her cheekbones and nose and her timid smile unconsciously bloomed, the incredulity burning out of her thoughts as he spoke. It was always like that with him, Solas made her believe she was, or could be all those things. "More? Isn't that enough?"

He cupped her cheek in his palm, his skin soft and cool against her burning cheek. "Ameridan was nowhere near as beautiful as you."

She flushed deeper, her Vallaslin disappearing into the red, delighted and flustered by his praise. She pulled her legs off of his lap and rolled up onto her knees beside him, planting a kiss on his high cheekbone. " _ Ma serannas _ ,  _ Vhenan _ ."

He smiled warmly at her. "Nothing to thank, I am merely stating facts as they are. You should be proud of the resemblance. Ameridan was a great man, just as you are a great woman."

She suddenly was proud. The last of her self-consciousness faded along with her blush. She arranged herself against his side and Solas put his arm around her. "You forgot another thing he and I have in common."

"Oh?" He took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. "And what is that?"

"We both have elven mage lovers."

Solas smiled knowingly and kissed her lips softly. "That is true." The expression puzzled Athim. It looked to her like he knew of some other similarity between their relationship at that of Ameridan and Telana, which he was choosing to keep to himself. She was about to ask what it was when a thought occurred to her and her lips snapped closed again, suppressing a giddy grin. If Solas noticed this reaction he did not comment on it, tilting his head to rest it against hers. She nestled into the crook of his arm tighter and indulged in a secret, eager smile.

_ Ameridan and Telana were married _ .


	20. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole comments on Athim's many masks.  
> (Post Here Lies the Abyss; Pre What Pride had Wrought)

"You're not you when you're not alone."

"What do you mean Cole?" Athim didn't look up at the spirit's sudden appearance as she had expected him. She could usually feel him coming. The way the atmosphere loosened and the wave of calm that accompanied his presence tended to tip her off. Not everyone could feel it she knew. Solas could as well as she, but Dorian and Vivenne only sometimes caught the edge of the feeling, more a niggling at the back of their minds rather than actual recognition. Non mages seemed immune to or unaware of any such alterations. Solas had suggested it was due to their familiarity and closeness with the Fade. Cole said it was because they were the same as him. He always spoke in riddles and she hadn't quite figured that one out yet.

"You keep parts of yourself behind masks. Different masks for different people. Never fully you. You only put them down when there's no one there."

"You make me sound like an Orlesian," she laughed, the armor she was busy polishing so bright she could see her own amused face in it, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth wrinkling the deep red spider threads of her Vallaslin.

"Yes, but not like a person. Like a masquerade, full of different people."

She set the armor and cleaning cloth aside and turned from the task to find him sitting upon her desks, one foot tucked under him and the other dangling limply off the edge. She shook her head, perplexed. "I'm just me, how can I be  _ less _ what I am?"

"You don't let them see the parts that would hurt." Though the brim of his hat still covered his eyes, she could feel his rapt attention on her. She had long suspected he preferred the accessory because it obscured how closely he observed everything.

Considering his words, Athim walked to the large desk and lifted herself into it to sit beside him. He was right. She avoided magic and elfy-ness in conversations with Sera, suppressed her natural inclination to fight with Vivenne over the finer points of mage equality, and obfuscated her lack of faith when speaking with Mother Giselle. "But everyone does that. No one intentionally says things they know will hurt their friends. Except maybe Viv, but I don't think she really has friends." She pulled one knee up to her chest and held it, absently mirroring his body language.

"Not like you do."

She looked at him, brows pulling down in confusion, waiting for him to go on.

It took a long time.

Silence with Cole was never uncomfortable. Athim felt at peace in his presence. It felt like being a girl again, back in the aravels with her books, secure in her safety.

"You are what they need you to be, even when it's not what you are."

She opened her mouth to protest, to insist that she was always herself, but stopped herself. It was true. More true than she had ever realized or was comfortable with. She thought back on interactions with everyone from her friends, to soldiers, to the nobles of the Orlesian court. She was always playing her part: the pios Herald, the commanding Inquisitor, the unyielding pillar of strength that her position required she be. Even among those closest to her.

"Dorian though, he's my best friend. I don't pretend to be anything I'm not with him."

“You pretend not to hurt for Dorian, because you know how much he worries.” his voice changed then, and she knew that if she could see his eyes they would be unfocused. "He carries burdens far more than his years. My reflection in his eyes is Felix. Refuse to be another corpse he watches hobble through his life." He lifted his head and met her eyes. "He doesn't know you think you're going to die."

"He doesn't need to." She pulled anxiously on her fingertips.

"That is what I mean." He maintained eye contact with her until she looked away, uncomfortable not with him, but with the truth she had been so wilfully blind to. Cole pushed himself off of the desk and started away towards the balcony.

"Cole." He stopped but did not turn around. "What about Solas?" She hated the edge of apprehension in her voice.

"Love so deep you worry he would drown if you allowed him to swim. Or, fearing water, that he would flee to shore."

She smiled wistfully, tension releasing. She knew that one. "Is that all?" 

He looked back at her, and for a moment she thought she saw sadness in his eyes. In a flash the emotion was gone and he nodded.

"That's all."

She pushed herself to her feet again and stretched. After Corypheus was defeated she would try to put the masks away. If she survived.

"Are you ready to depart for the Arbor Wilds?" But she got no response, and turning to the balcony she found he was no longer there. Shrugging she went back to her armor. Athim hoped to finish and get to bed early. 

The army was marching at dawn.


	21. Fen'Harel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nature of forgiveness  
> (Post Here Lies the Abyss; Pre Jaws of Hakkon)

"I for one cannot believe you let that man remain here after finding out what he truly is." The statement, made unprompted, left everyone at the table to pause in their eating and stare at Vivienne. Varric and Cassandra's expressions both stated clearly that they knew the storm that was about to whip up, though the dwarf looked amused by the prospect in contrast to the Seeker's apprehensive scowl. Solas, seated as always to Athim's left, had raised one intrigued eyebrow. Athim glowered, running her tongue over her teeth in irritation and slowly set her fork aside.

"I don't see why." The Inquisitor's tone was sharp. "I've known what you truly are since the beginning and you're still here."

The Lady of Iron chuckled low in her throat, the sound like the purr of a great cat. "Touché my dear, but I have never committed treason while murdering an entire family."

"Disappointed?" Poison dropped from the words as they left Athim's lips. "Maybe if you keep stabbing people in the back the opportunity will present itself."

"My, my, my." Vivienne had the decency to feign offense. "Miss Lavellan has claws this evening, doesn't she?"

Athim rolled her eyes dismissively. "If you wish to admonish my decisions I do wish you'd get it over with. We are not at Halamshiral and I am not dressed for dancing about the issue."

The veneer of Vivienne's condescending amusement cracked, her lips thinning. "Once a traitor, always a traitor." Her eyes shone with inner fire, and if they had been turned on anyone other than the Inquisitor it likely would have burned them to ash. "Rainier has been bought before and it is only a matter of time before your enemies offer him enough coin to slit your throat while you sleep."

"Vivienne.  _ Dear _ ." Athim imitated the circle mage's condescending tone and smiled widely, her white teeth gleaming with malice. "I would sooner take the advice of an assassin hired to kill me than yours."

"How very Fereldan of you." Varric snorted. Vivienne and Athim ignored his comment, but Cassandra made a disgusted noise at the joke.

"I simply cannot fathom how this will affect your reputation among the nobility of Orlais. It has not been that long and the Callier family had many friends who still hold power." It was clear from her tone that Vivienne thought this would conclusively end the discussion, leaving her the victor.

"I will not condemn a man for actions taken in another life.” Athim’s voice was hard and flat. It was the same decisive tone she used when issuing judgements from the Inquisition throne. “If my  _ reputation _ can not abide mercy then I have no use for it. The nobles of Orlais can go to the void for all I care.”

Three pairs of eyes flicked between the mages as they waited for Vivienne’s response. At length the woman sighed, pulling the napkin from her lap to toss onto the table. “I am merely attempting to look out for you, dear.” She stood, lips pursed and back tense. “Orlesian politics can be murder you know.” With the halfhearted threat delivered and no discernible reaction from Athim, Vivienne turned and removed herself from the room.

Athim watched her go with eyes that shone with vitriol. “I hate that woman.”

“But how do you really feel?” Varric laughed. Athim cracked a smile, the anger clearing from her expression. She sighed with relief and slipped her hand into Solas’s under the table. He squeezed it gently, running his thumb over the back of her hand: providing comfort without drawing attention to her desire for it.

“Do you truly believe that? About Blackwa— Rainier, I mean?” Cassandra folded her hands on the table, her expression serious.

"Of course I do." Athim seemed shocked by the question. "I have never before met a man more worthy of mercy."

"Some things are beyond mercy." Cassandra did nothing to hide her contempt for the man.

Athim met her eyes resolutely. "You don't believe that. Not really. Yes, what Thom Rainier did was horrible." She nodded sagely. "He made many mistakes, and those mistakes led to death and suffering. Can you or I not say the same? The Templar order fell into the hands of Corypheus because I chose to go to Redcliff instead of Therinfal Redoubt. How many men and women died because of that decision?"

Cassandra was taken aback by the comparison. "That is different," she sputtered.

"I doubt the families of those who died would agree with you." Her brows knit with guilt. It was clear the thought was one she had often and it troubled her. Solas squeezed her hand reassuringly. "He felt he had no options and he deeply regretted the act before it was even completed."

"But he ran away, he was a coward who left his men to suffer for his sins!"

"That's true. And it is reprehensible." She shook her head gently. "I cannot say for certain that in that position I would not have done the same thing." Cassandra opened her mouth to object, but Athim held up a hand to stop her. "I cannot, Cass. I appreciate that you believe me to be a paragon of bravery and integrity, but I have never been in that situation, and I don’t know how I would react if I was.”

"I suppose that is fair." Cassandra agreed grudgingly.

"It takes time to come to terms with your own actions, and to find a way to attone. Mistakes can rarely be truly corrected. Thom found his redemption with Blackwall, or rather it found him. I believe strongly that if Warden Blackwall had not fallen while defending Rainier he never would have found it."

"How so?" Varric had been uncharacteristically silent up to that point as he listened.

Athim took a breath, sorting through the words in her mind. It was an expression Solas had become intimately familiar with: her lips and eyes pulled opposite directions and her nose wrinkled slightly in thought. "He couldn't be Rainier anymore. Rainier was a coward, a man without honor. He had no future. He would have sought death in every town he passed until he found it, because what he wanted, what he needed, was to not exist. That was the only appropriate penalty for his actions. But the Warden saw something in him, something that he thought was worth dying for. Rainier didn't see it, I still don't think he does. It gave him something to live for though, to honor the man who thought he could be more than a coward and a killer."

"But he lied to us, lied to  _ you _ , for years!" Cassandra was flabbergasted by Athim’s clemency.

“His  _ actions  _ did not lie. He fought harder than any man to defend those weaker than him. He acted with integrity, always. He sought in all things to leave the world a better place than he found it.” There were tears in her eyes and her voice had risen in volume with her conviction. "He made a horrible mistake years ago and has done nothing but sought to make it right. The lives he destroyed cannot be restored, but he can and has saved countless more in that pursuit. I don't know Thom Rainier, I have never known him. I know Blackwall, and he is as honorable and good a man as I have ever met. If that is not worth your Maker's forgiveness then hang the Maker and hang me too."

A stunned silence followed her emphatic declaration. Solas felt dazed, hearing refled in her words his own lies and his own struggle for redemption. Not Thom Rainier on her lips but  _ Fen’Harel _ .

“Athim— I’m sorry, I—” Cassandra faltered, reaching across the table for the elf’s arm.

“No, I—” Athim waved off her hand, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm. Her gaze fell to the table, unable to meet Cassandra’s anymore. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” She took her hand from Solas to wrap her arms around herself, anxiously rubbing her upper arms.

“Don’t apologize for giving a damn.” Varric threw Cassandra an admonishing look.

"It was not my intention to cause you distress, Athim." Cassandra's back was rigid, her arm still hovering in the air, wishing to offer support but unsure how to do so.

Solas gently rubbed small circles on Athim's lower back and she shook herself, releasing her arms. "You didn't Cass, I'm sorry I reacted so poorly." She rested her hand on Solas's knee, the gentle squeeze of her fingers a silent thank you. “I understand why you find it difficult to trust him. I can't articulate fully why I do, but I do."

"I'd say you articulated it very well." Solas said admiringly.

"Absolutely." Varric flashed her a wide grin.

Cassandra nodded assuredly. "You have given me a lot to think about. I perhaps have been too severe in my condemnation of the man."

A flush climbed up Athim's cheeks in reaction to the unanticipated praise. "I think that I should, uh, go check on Dagna." She stood abruptly, almost tripping on the bench in her uncomfortable haste. "She always forgets about dinner. I, um," she took a breath and gratefully smiled at them. "Thank you." She scurried away across the hall towards the Undercroft, leaving the others smiling behind her.

"It's easy to forget she's the Inquisitor when she goes all awkward like that," Varric chuckled.

Cassandra laughed. "She truly is remarkable."

"That she is." Solas said, watching her vanish through the door at the end of the hall, his heart full of something like hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opinions expressed by characters in this chapter regarding Blackwall ABSOLUTELY reflect those of the author. My boy Thom gets a bad rap and I will scream from the mountain tops what a great man he is.


	22. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athim's nightmares  
> (Post game; Pre Trespasser)

_ They walked, hand in hand, along the bank of a river. Everything was lush and green and the river well fed, it's rolling waters bubbling and gurgling over stones pleasant background music for their stroll. The Emerald Graves in spring. She breathed in the heavy, humid air which was perfumed with rosemary, marigolds, and begonias. His hand caressed her cheek, gently turning her face to his. _

_ "You are more lovely than anything in this forest." His voice was tender and his thumb gently caressed her cheek. _

_ "You say that everywhere we go." _

_ "It is true everywhere we go." He drew her into a kiss, his lips soft yet forceful, a sensation which vibrated down her spine. _

_ "You are so beautiful." _

_ The scent of flowers replaced by the crisp feeling of the fade, veil thinning, tingling along her skin. The river was gone, only a mire beside where they stood. Crestwood. _

_ "No." Her voice sounded distant. "Solas. Ma Vhenan. Please." His eyes were sad as he pulled his hand away from her face.  _

_ Then she was alone. Terror gripped her heart, tightening like a vice and making it difficult to breathe. Her left arm exploded with crackling, green fire, the pain making her scream and drop to her knees. _

_ "Solas?" Her eyes were running from the agony, tears cooling the skin of her face which felt too hot. She pushed herself back to her feet, screaming again as Sparks flew from her burning arm searing pinpricks of white hot pain into her side and leg. "Solas?!" Her voice was frantic. She began to run, stumbling, tripping, pushing herself back up only to stumble again. Sobs wracked her chest and her vision blurred, a torrent of tears cascading from her eyes. Stones cut into her feet, knees, and hands. She could feel the blood coating her skin, but she couldn't stop. She slipped and tumbled, falling and rolling down a sharp incline, the roughy terrain ripping through her skin, and landed in a heap. _

_ Gasping through sobs she pushed herself to her knees and found herself in the Nightmare's realm of the Fade, before her the ominous headstones which betrayed her companions' deepest fears.. The words on the one before her seemed to glow with the same unearthly light which spread in veins on the surrounding stone:  _

_ Solas. Dying Alone. _

Athim gasped awake, drenched in sweat, face wet with tears. Her hands were clenched into the sheets, blankets long since kicked away by her thrashing sleep. It was painful to relax her fingers, the digits locked in their grasping claws for so long they ached. With great effort she pushed herself upright and cradled her aching head in her hands.

Every night since he left she'd had the dream. Sometimes the details changed, but they always ended the same. She was always alone, broken, and looking for him. She could feel it killing her, the lack of restful sleep. She couldn't focus during the days, head fuzzy and eyes bleary. She'd begun hallucinating. She saw him in every shadow, just out of reach beyond every corner. Her friends didn't know how to help, comforting words and gestures spent long ago. So they were patient, they didn't pry, but she could see the growing concern behind their eyes. The way they looked at each other, they thought she was losing her mind, and maybe they were right. How long would they realistically allow her to continue to lead them when she was so visibly falling apart?

_ No _ . She slammed her fist into the mattress beside her.  _ I will not lose the Inquisition as well _ .

Closing her eyes Athim reached for her connection with the Fade.  _ Just for a little while. _ She thought, then visualized a hand covering it, cheesecloth filtering the connection between her and the place of dreams, a valve that would allow magic through but would keep her out. The Fade resisted, pushing against her efforts and her mind flooded with memories. They should have been pleasant; her and Solas exploring the history of ancient castles and libraries, lying together in impossibly large fields of lavender, following wisps and laughing as they twirled in circles around them. But over every memory was his devastated face and his sorrowful voice echoing in her skull:  _ What we had was real. _

She pushed again, imposing her will on the power that was part of her but separate at the same time. Like a pin pushing through thick fabric the resistance dropped away and Athim felt the power of the Fade recede. She let out a sigh of relief as the memories faded from the forefront of her mind, and rubbed her tired eyes.

It was still dark, but despite her exhaustion she knew she would be unable to sleep again. Instead, she pushed to her feet and walked out into the cool night air of the balcony. Her elbows propped on the railing, she pensively looked over Skyhold.  _ I will do better. _ She told herself.  _ I will be the Inquisitor they need me to be.  _ How long she stood there in the cold, she could not say. When the first light of dawn came over the Eastern peaks she was still there. Turning from the view she returned to her chambers to dress for the day.


	23. Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revisiting Crestwood  
> (Post game; Pre Trespasser)

She hadn't been back there since that night.

When word came there was trouble at the village or at the Fort, the Inquisitor, who was usually quick to jump into the field with nihilistic enthusiasm, would send the Chargers in her stead. Bull never asked why, he didn't need to, and the trouble was always resolved. After a year it became a well known fact in the Inquisition that the Inquisitor did not go to Crestwood. Which is why it came as such a surprise when one early morning, as the Chargers prepared to ride out to investigate rumors of renewed wyvern sightings, Athim appeared beside them, dressed for travel and mounted on her hart.

“Boss.”

“Bull.”

He cast his gaze over her gear and weapons, face passive as stone apart from a single eyebrow which he raised at her questioningly. “Nice to have you along.” He watched as she stiffly nodded and swallowed hard. To most anyone else nothing would have looked amis. Her back was straight, her chin up, expression blank. She looked like the measured, controlled Inquisitor she had proven to be through years of struggles. But Bull could see the cracks: she was suppressing a tremor in her hands, muscles stiff with the effort, the pulse in her throat hammered erratically, and she was consciously not focusing her eyes on any one thing, pupils bouncing from object to object. To Bull she looked terrified. The determined set of her chin and the coiled readiness in the muscles of her legs, visible even through her riding breeches, told him she would not welcome any questions regarding her presence, so he didn’t bother. “Chargers! Head out!”

Athim rode silently to his left the entire day. Krem and the others behaved as they usually would on the road, giving the Inquisitor no mind. They had all picked up on Bull’s nonchalant disregard of the woman and followed suit, almost without thought. When they stopped to make camp he watched her set up her own tent slightly apart from the Chargers. "Hey Krem."

"Yes Chief?" The man was at his elbow in an instant, ear always keen for instruction even when facilitating the preparations.

“Why don’t you go see if the Inquisitor needs any help. Ask if she wants food with us or if we should bring her something.”

Krem nodded pertly. “Any ideas about her sudden appearance?”

“A few.” Bull smirked, the expression signaling that there would be no further information provided.

The smaller man turned and headed toward Athim without another word. Bull noticed that he was careful to drag his feet slightly when he approached her so his sudden appearance wouldn’t startle her.  _ Good man _ . He watched them speak briefly, taking careful note of her body language. Folded arms, dropped chin, legs tightly pulled together. Closed off and defensive. It was obvious this was about the elf. The Inquisitor had been walking around with a knife sticking out of her back for a year. She disguised it well, but it was still there. He knew, and she knew that he knew. The smell of cooking meat blew across the campsite and Krem threw a thumb over his shoulder towards the campfire. Athim gave him a limp wave before returning to her set up and Krem headed back to where Bull waited.

“She doesn’t need any help and if we could bring her something that would be lovely.”

“Did she say lovely or did you?” Bull crossed his huge arms, tilting his head slightly in amusement.

“I did. She said she’d appreciate it.”

“That sounds more like her.” He gestured with his head. “Finish helping the boys with everything. I'll take her something when it's ready."

He waited until the Chargers were good and rowdy before heading for Athim's small tent with a metal plate, sparsely filled with cooked rabbit and wild onions.

"Hey Boss. Got you some grub." 

There was a delay before she emerged from the tent, coming to her feet slowly. "Thanks," her affect was flat and she took the plate from his hands slowly.

“Didn’t wake you did I?”

“No.” She didn’t elaborate.

He nodded thoughtfully, then purposefully sat down, back to the tent, legs stretched out towards the main camp and ankles crossed. She watched him sit and seemed to be about to say something, instead sighing and sitting down beside him. 

“So you want us to just drop you by that cave when we get to Crestwood? Pick you up on our way out?”

She paused, mouth open, and put down the meat she’d been about to eat. “I’d rather not discuss it, Bull.” Her voice was annoyed, words short and crisp.

“I get that. Trust me, you’re not putting off chatty vibes.”

“Then why are we chatting?”

He looked at her, the way she drew her knees close to her chest, how her shoulders curved forward, the downward turn of her mouth. “You think this is going to help?”

Athim set the plate down beside her and crossed her arms on top of her knees. “I don’t know. Maybe not.” She shook her head, burying her face in her arms.

“Why do it then?”

“I feel like I have to.” Her voice was muffled in her cotton sleeves. “I’m a coward if I don’t.”

“Bullshit.” Her head snapped up, looking at him as if he’d struck her. He shrugged. “Torturing yourself doesn’t make you brave.”

She replied bitterly. “Avoiding pain isn’t cowardly?”

“Is wearing armor cowardly? Using a shield?” the sarcastic look dropped from her face and she studied the ground at her feet, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Take what you need, what you can from something, then leave it behind, I say. What can that place give you that’s going to help?” She didn’t answer, eyes narrowed and face pensive. He sighed and pushed to his feet. “Anyway, that’s just my two bits.” He dusted off his pants and started away.

“Hey Bull?” he turned back to her. She wasn’t smiling, but her shoulders seemed a bit straighter and the haunted look in her eyes had lightened. “Thanks.”

“No problem Boss.” he tossed her a mock salute, then went back to the large campfire, taking a seat beside Krem.

“She alright?” he had leaned over to ask without being overheard by the others, not that it was necessary considering the laughing and shouting going on.

“She’s fine.” he replied nonchalantly. 

He sincerely hoped she would be.

Athim didn’t go to the cave. As they rode past the path which led there she pulled away from the group, looking up the hill, as they continued on towards town. Bull slowed his own mount to watch her, motioning for Krem and the others to go on. She sat still, staring towards the cave mouth until the Chargers were out of sight. Bull watched her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh, then she turned her hart to follow the road.

“Proud of you Boss.” He pulled his mount up next to hers.

“I didn’t do anything.” She glanced over at him, a cynical look in her eyes.

“Yeah, but you chose not to.”

She studied him for a moment, then looked back to the road. Her chin raised a little higher and he saw the barest glimmer of a smile touch her lips. They rode the rest of the way in silence.


	24. Balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming to terms with his absence  
> (Post game; Pre Trespasser)

Athim closed her chamber door behind her and bolted it before leaning back against the sturdy wood and releasing a deep, relieved sigh. As much as she appreciated the fanfare and seeing the happiness in her friends' faces, she was weary and did not wish to be disturbed. Not by drunk revelers and, even more so, not by well meaning companions. Slowly, sluggishly, she climbed the stairs up to her room, feeling heavier with each step ascended. Reaching the landing felt like it's own minor victory. She looked to her bed, it's plush pillows and warm furs tantalizingly inviting, but she turned away from its promise of reprieve, instead dragging her feet out onto the North balcony. She set her elbows on the railing and let the stone take her weight. LLetting herself physically relax, her mental strength also gave out, and she found herself sniffing back tears.

He was gone.

It didn’t feel real. 

She had turned her back on him for only a moment, and she would never forgive herself for it. He hadn’t been the same since Crestwood: He barely looked at her, wouldn’t speak to her unless she addressed him, and when he had spoken it was like someone else behind his eyes. He was strict, stilted, and nothing like  _ her _ Solas. What made it worse was she could see him behind the mask, could see  _ her _ Solas locked away behind the formal stranger. In those last moments, as he held the pieces of the shattered orb in his hands, he was him again, he was  _ hers _ , and she never should have turned away from him. 

He had told her that he would explain once Corypheus was defeated, but it was clear to her now that he knew he wouldn’t stay long enough for any such explanations. He had probably known that he wouldn’t for longer than she cared to think about.

He lied to her.

The reality of the fact stung as much as his absence. He never intended to explain anything. Her hands, hanging over the edge of the railing, tightened into fists and she felt the heat of anger rising from her stomach to color her neck and cheeks.

He had  _ lied _ to her.

She had been honest with him about everything, even the things that terrified her to say aloud. She had shared secrets, and truths, and fears with him that she would never tell anyone else, not even Dorian. The knowledge that he maintained no such trust with her struck like a branding iron. How much of what they had was based in lies?

_ What we had was real. _

As quickly as the anger had appeared, it dissipated. She gripped the stone railing and shook her head forcefully. She refused to believe that. Solas had shown her parts of himself no one else saw and took her places he wouldn’t share with anyone else. No one was that good a liar, not even Bull, who had been trained his entire life to lie as easily as breathe. There were tears in her eyes again and she didn’t fight them. The cool trails they left down her cheeks caught the breeze off the snowy peaks and made her shiver.

“What we had was real.” she wrapped the words around her to stave off the sorrow, mirroring the way she wrapped her arms around herself to keep away the chill. “It is real,  _ ara nas’falon _ .”

“Athim?” she started at the voice, spinning so fast she almost lost her balance, but his hand caught hers just in time to steady her. “I’m sorry. I know you want to be alone.”

She smiled through her tears, more happy to see him than she would have expected, and put her arms around the spirit’s neck without thinking, clinging to him. “But that’s not what I need.”

“No.” Cole answered, clumsily returning her embrace.

She took a deep breath, trying to stop her crying, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. “Will you stay here with me, just for a little while? I don’t think I can sleep yet.”

He nodded against her shoulder. “I want to help.”

Athim released him, smiling despondently and dabbing at her damp cheeks with her sleeve. “Thank you Cole,” She leaned her elbows on the railing again, and he did the same beside her.

After a short stretch of silence he timidly asked, “What does it mean?  _ Nas’falon _ ?”

She looked up at the sky, where the stars were twinkling to life, cloud cover pushed off by the chilling winds. “It means he shares my soul.”

“Yes.” Cole’s voice was very soft and Athim looked over to find him gazing out over the mountains with a distant, sad look in his eyes. “He does.” She closed her eyes, breath catching in her throat. Noticing he stammered. “I-I’m sorry. Knowing was supposed to help, I didn’t do it right—”

“You did Cole.” She cut him off, placing her hand on his. “It does help.” She paused, sniffling slightly. “You miss him too.”

He nodded, eyes far away. “Being with you helps.”

“Stay as long as you like.” she squeezed his hand. “I want to help.”


	25. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eye of the Beholder  
> (Mid Trespasser)

Athim insisted that she would be the first one to pass through the Eluvian, not that there was much dissent on the matter. What lay on the other side of the glass was a mystery, and the Inquisitor knew from experience that it could lead anywhere, even to the Fade itself. They would have to be ready for anything so, much to Bull and Thom's dismay, she requested a light-footed scouting party. The atmosphere was tense as they donned armor and prepared weapons and Sera didn’t even gripe about the elfy-ness of it all.

Athim felt the itching pain of the mark burning to life and shook her hand to fend it off. Dorian caught her eye and she shook her head dismissively. The others didn't know that the mark had been behaving strangely and causing her pain, and she wanted to keep it that way. “Everyone ready?” Varric and Sera looked up from their last minute preparations and nodded. Facing the glass, staff held ready in her right hand, Athim took a deep breath. She was apprehensive, but more than that she was excited. Excited to have a purpose again. She had always done her best work as the Inquisitor when she was rushing blindly into situations she knew nothing about. 

She stepped through the gleaming portal and was immediately dazzled by the brightness of the gleaming sky, then her eyes adjusted to the light and she was hypnotized by the beauty of the place where she had emerged. The opalescent sky shimmered with color, shifting and alive. The rough hewn walkways and half collapsed ruins were dotted with creeping life, young trees with vibrant pink leaves clinging to the edges of the crumbling stone. It was the most gorgeous place Athim had ever seen outside of the Fade. As the thought occurred to her, she realized where she must be.

“The Crossroads.” She breathed, recalling Morrigan’s explanation of the space between spaces created by the Ancient Elves. Not the Fade or the waking world, but somewhere hidden in between.

She didn’t notice Dorian coming through the eluvian behind her until he crashed into her back, as in her awe she had neglected to move forward from the point where she emerged. She stumbled forward, nearly overbalancing onto her face before Dorian caught her wrist. “Woah there, stay up.” He helped her regain her balance, chuckling. “Did you forget about us in the 30 seconds since you left?"

"Of course not, it's just—" she cast her gaze back to the scenery. "This place…" Dorian looked over the landscape, intrigued by her fascination. Behind them Varric and Sera stepped through the Eluvian.

"Bit shite isn't it?" Athim's eyes snapped to Sera as the woman spoke, shocked by her indifferent tone.

"I don't know if I'd go that far Buttercup, but I did expect something a bit more theatrical." Varric had his hands on his hips as he glanced around. Athim gaped at him.

Her eyes flashed to Dorian and caught his equally underwhelmed reaction. "Are all of you blind?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow and Sera cocked her head curiously at the outburst. "Sa'bit weird, but just a load of broken down buildings, what's there to see?"

Athim was astonished. "But the sky and the trees and, and—"

"They don't see it like you do." Cole was beside her, his voice soft. She stared at him, mystified, and he nodded towards the horizon. "The colors don't echo for them, all washed out and dull."

"What do  _ you  _ see Athim?" Dorian cupped his chin studiously.

"The trees are alive, they're covered in pink leaves." She responded timidly, self-conscious about her dissimilarity to the others. "And the sky, I can see colors glistening at the edges of my vision." They all stared at her, confusion maring their expressions. She shifted from foot to food anxiously. "...It's beautiful."

"Fascinating!" Dorian ecstatically looked over their surroundings again.

"Creepy." Sera shuddered and gripped her bow tighter, eyes narrowing.

"Why?" Varric asked the important question. Everyone looked to Cole for an answer, but he was gone.

"Maybe it's because of the Anchor," Athim looked at her own palm contemplatively. "The orb was of ancient elven origin and so is this place."

"What  _ is _ this place?" Varric squinted into the distance. "I have a feeling we're not in Thedas anymore."

"A very good question." Dorian retreated from the crumbling edge of the platform to rejoin the group.

"Morrigan called it the Crossroads." Athim looked over the horizon and was able to discern the silhouettes of other Eluvians scattered about the ruins. "It's not in Thedas  _ or _ in the Fade, but somewhere in-between.

"Creepy." Sera forcefully annunciated each syllable of the word.

Athim bit back a smirk. "It was built to be a connection point between Eluvians, to make travel easier. If every one was point to point it would be much more difficult to get anywhere."

"It makes sense," Dorian nodded. "I just wonder how they did it. The ability to create what are essentially pocket worlds outside of Thedas would be an incredible asset."

"Not to mention incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands." Varric looked sidelong at the mage. "But that does seem to be your thing, Sparkler."

"Can we just frigging go?" Sera cut off their banter, annoyed.

"We should move on. This isn't a sightseeing trip." Athim gripped her staff tighter and looked to the nearest visible Eluvian. They would need to explore within them to find where the Qunari had come from.

"More's the pity." The disappointment was clear in Dorian’s voice.

“Come on.” The Inquisitor rolled her eyes at him and passed between the others, leaving them to trail in her wake as she headed for the nearest portal.


End file.
